


A Beginner's Guide to Hunting Demons

by callay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic, Mentor/Protégé, Porn With Plot, Short Chapters, Smut, updates weekly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 69,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: Jasper is an apprentice mage determined to become a master demon hunter and win over his handsome mentor, Doran - simple enough, right? Meanwhile, his roommate Tris has everything under control… until he runs into a compelling demon with plans of his own.Updates every Wednesday.





	1. Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new and exciting venture for me, and I'm thrilled to share it with everyone! I post a new chapter every Wednesday. Follow the story on [Tumblr](https://beginnersguidetodemons.tumblr.com) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/A%20Beginners%20Guide%20to%20Hunting%20Demons) for notes and updates.
> 
> If you have any thoughts on the story, please leave me a comment or drop me a note - you can find my personal blogs on [Tumblr](https://calllay.tumblr.com) and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/callay). <3

Jasper Martins has always been good at wanting things he shouldn’t. Like when he was younger, stealing pinches of adamant from his parents so he could stay up late reading paperbacks by spirit-lamp, imagining being the demon-conquering heroes in the book – wanting to be them, so much it felt like a physical pain.

He’s been like that his whole life, focusing on impossible goals and relishing the feeling of it – the pleasant, frustrating ache of want. When he meets Doran, he feels it almost immediately.

Before this semester, he knew who Doran was, of course – Doran Telarren, one of the most powerful mages at Evenfell University. Jasper has seen him at university functions, maybe even admired in passing his broad shoulders and the sharp, handsome set of his face.

But it’s different when they’re together in Doran’s office. It’s different when the door closes behind Jasper, and Doran gets up from his desk. Because that right there, the little flip Jasper’s stomach does as Doran comes closer – that’s the feeling.

It’s hard to explain. It’s not just that Doran is tall and handsome. There’s also a strength to him, something steady and deliberate about the way he moves. Something simultaneously intimidating and electrifying about the directness of his gaze. His expression is friendly but the something about him speaks to the animal part of Jasper like a challenge.

Half of Jasper wants to roll over and show his throat and the rest is howling for a chance to prove himself worthy. But all he does is smile and hold out a hand. “Master Doran, I’m Jasper Martins, your apprentice.”

“Right. Pleased to meet you.” Doran’s hand is warm, but there’s a cool, tingling shock where his rings touch Jasper’s skin. Jasper swallows down a little shiver.

That’s the other thing that’s different up close. Of course Doran, a renowned demon hunter, has bound many demons under his control. But now Jasper can actually see the evidence of it – not just the rings on Doran’s fingers, but also, since Doran has his sleeves rolled up, the series of iron bands around his forearms. Each ring and band is different, intricate ironwork holding a red adamant gem that bears the spirit of a demon. The bands are snug around the muscles of Doran’s arm, dark metal against his light brown skin.

Jasper feels a fresh flush of heat spread through his veins as he traces Doran’s arm with his eyes. He knew Doran’s reputation, but it’s different to see evidence of his power laid out in iron against skin. The rings look heavy, creating an impression of latent strength in the lean, defined muscles of Doran’s forearms.

Jasper can’t help imagining what it would feel like to wrap his hands around Doran’s arms, to feel the shift of the muscle and the shock of power from the demon rings. It’s a tempting image, and he can’t help his thoughts sliding further – in a rush of heat, he imagines feeling Doran’s big, square hands on his own bare skin, and Doran’s arms around his waist, the weight of them on his hips.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Jasper,” says Doran, withdrawing his hand, and Jasper looks up, his thoughts interrupted.

His eyes meet Doran’s and instantly he’s pinned by Doran’s gaze. Doran’s eyes are green, bright and piercing, like he can see right through Jasper.

A hot, unnameable thrill rolls down Jasper’s spine. Does Doran know what he was just thinking about? Below the intensity of his eyes, Doran’s expression remains polite and unchanged, his mouth drawn in a neutral line.

“All good things, I hope,” answers Jasper lightly.

“Some,” says Doran, with the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth.

Jasper shrugs, smiling. “Hey, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, in any case, your work with me will be very different from your schoolwork so far.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jasper grins. “Why else would I have sat through all of those classes to get here?”

Doran doesn’t look amused. “I hope you plan to treat each visit to Deimos with the gravity it requires.”

There’s no doubt about that. Jasper’s been planning this for two years. Longer, if you count the all that time he spent reading stories about the demon wars, about mages with the power to plunge into the darkness and wrest adamant from bloodthirsty demons – the stories that brought him to Evenfell University, despite everything that stood in his way. Yes, Jasper has definitely been imagining Deimos with all the gravity anyone could hope for.

Of course, he hadn’t imagined his mentor would be someone like Doran. He wasn’t planning on the charge he feels running through his veins just from being in the same room as Doran. What will happen, in the shadowy places of the demon realm? He can’t help imagining it: Jasper and Doran, victorious, an adamant gem hot in Jasper’s hand. Their breath coming fast, their bodies drawing close.

Jasper swallows the thought down before it can go further and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Make sure of it,” says Doran, heat flashing in his eyes. “Deimos isn’t just a fun diversion. Mages have died there.”

Jasper lifts his chin and meets Doran’s eyes. Doran’s gaze burns through him like a challenge, and Jasper feels his pride surge up in response. He is ready for this, he’s sure of it. His whole body feels aligned, focused on Doran like iron to a magnet, and through Doran, the demon realm.

“I won’t let you down.”

For a moment Doran searches Jasper’s face, and then something in him eases and he puts a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “See that you don’t.”

Jasper can feel the weight of Doran’s hand, the pressure and heat of it. Their eyes are still locked, and even though Doran doesn’t quite smile, Jasper feels a charge pass between the two of them, a spark of excitement and possibility. Doran’s green eyes, Jasper notices, are ringed with gold.

Jasper doesn’t look away. After all, he thinks, he’s always been good at getting what he wants.


	2. Indelibly

Jasper can’t sleep. It’s hot in his dorm room, and finally he gets up and throws open the window. Outside, spirit-powered lampposts line the walkways, casting warm light on the university quad, but Jasper ignores the students who still linger outside and turns his eyes up to the sky instead.

Against the ink-black of the sky, the moon is a thin sliver. Jasper knew it was waning, of course, but the sight of it still sends a spark of excitement through him. The demon realm is only safe during the three days of a new moon, which start tomorrow night – and so tomorrow night, Jasper will be crossing realms with Doran for the first time.

Jasper has been studying demons and the two realms for years now, but he’s never had a chance to put his knowledge to use. He’s heard long lectures on spirit magic, even done exercises to hone his spirit, but since it’s not actually possible to generate any magic here in Aethon, he won’t be able to test himself until he’s there in Deimos, wielding magic and binding demons.

He looks down at his hands on the windowsill and imagines them shining with demon rings, each bearing the glowing adamant gem of a demon’s spirit. Imagines what that must feel like, the tug of another being that’s bound to you. Eager determination swells in his chest. He wants to skip ahead in time until he’s there, his arms heavy with demon rings, his name known throughout the university as a prodigious new mage. Doran with his hand on Jasper’s shoulder and admiration in his eyes.

Just the thought sends a thrill down his spine. The effect of Doran’s presence hasn’t faded at all over the days since their meeting: the image of Doran lingers indelibly in his mind, an impression of strength and grace, of gold-green eyes and dark metal demon rings. For a moment Jasper stares out the window, reliving their meeting – the shock of Doran’s touch, the heat of his eyes.

But, he thinks, this isn’t very conducive to sleep. And he needs to be well-rested for the trip to Deimos – his roommate Tris said so, and listening to Tris is usually a good idea. Scrubbing a hand over his short hair, Jasper turns away from the window, climbs back into bed, and kicks his feet back under the sheet.

He should try to think of something other than Doran and demons so he can get to sleep, he tells himself – but he can’t seem to come up with any other topics. There is, of course, the pile of homework waiting over on his desk. Just because he’s starting his demon-hunting apprenticeship this year doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other classes. If he can’t sleep, maybe he should get up and get some work done instead.

After all, for all his advice about getting plenty of rest before traveling to the demon realm, Tris himself is still at the university library, studying. Jasper wonders what Tris is doing right now – knowing him, he’s probably deep into some giant tome. Jasper can imagine him perfectly, curled in an armchair, his head of dark curls bowed over the book, a small frown on his face as he focuses.

Jasper smiles at the image, and then, without meaning to, his mind jumps from the library to further afield, and he wonders what Doran might be doing right now.

He can’t resist speculating. Would Doran still be up, maybe even still in his office, across the quad from Jasper? Or would he be at home, in bed? Jasper imagines a large, elegantly appointed bedroom, Doran lying in bed in a white nightshirt. No – it’s so hot tonight, wouldn’t Doran sleep naked?

A little shiver of heat runs through Jasper at the thought, and he takes a quick breath, pleased by his own daring.

Now that he thinks of it, there is one good way to help himself fall asleep. To get out all this nervous energy.

The thought sends an eager thrill through him, and he can’t help but give in to it. Breathing out slowly, he slides his hand under the sheet and nudges his pajama pants off his hips, and then carefully curls his hand around his cock.

He rarely gets to do this so blatantly, but with Tris out, there’s nothing to stop him. It makes him feels audacious, almost decadent. He wants to go slow, to relish the arousal that swells in his veins, the way his cock hardens up in his fist.

When he closes his eyes, his head fills with thoughts of Doran.

It’s probably wrong to think of Doran like this – but he has to think of something, doesn’t he, in order to get to sleep? And images of Doran come so easily to mind: Doran’s broad shoulders, his lean, strong body. The power in his sharp jawline, in the straight line of his nose, in the bright focus of his eyes.

Jasper strokes himself in a building rhythm, speeding up as he feels tension start to spark through his body. It’s Doran’s eyes he keeps thinking about, the electric intensity of them. He imagines Doran gazing down at him now, his face neutral as he takes in the rapid rise and fall of Jasper’s chest, the rhythmic rustle of the sheet. Heat rushes through Jasper at the thought. He imagines seeing desire in Doran’s eyes, magnified by all of Doran’s quiet intensity, focused entirely on Jasper. Jasper’s body.

Jasper shudders and lets his hand move even faster. Already the complex swell of excitement and nerves at the thought of traveling to Deimos has been replaced by something much simpler: the pure physical hum of arousal, his whole body alive with tension, tuned to the tight slide of his fist.

He imagines Doran’s body. Imagines touching it, being pressed against it. Doran behind him, his chest against Jasper’s back, his arms holding him tight – Doran’s arms, strong, heavy with demon rings. Jasper pictures them wrapped around his chest and stomach, imagining the heat of Doran’s skin, the cold tingle of the demon rings.

The air in Jasper’s room feels thick and hot, and there’s sweat gathering at the small of his back, under his arms, and finally he throws off the sheet entirely and lies there exposed, breathing hard, his hips pushing up to meet each of his strokes. In his fantasy, Doran’s arms are around Jasper and his broad hand slides down Jasper’s stomach, over his abdomen, all the way down to curl hot and firm around his cock.

Jasper shudders. He opens his eyes and looks down to watch his cock slide through his fist, picturing Doran’s hand instead, square and strong, and Jasper’s cock pushing up through Doran’s grip. Jasper’s cock flushed dark and shameless, just like this, drooling precome over Doran’s fingers. Over his rings, which buzz with power against Jasper’s skin.

The image catches Jasper’s breath in his throat. The thought of Doran is proving dangerously potent, enough to take Jasper’s idle attempt to distract himself and turn it into something electrifying. Jasper’s strokes have grown fast, desperate, each sending a shock of tension into the knot of heat in his stomach, pushing him closer and closer to orgasm with every heartbeat.

But no, wait, he doesn’t want to come yet – he wants to draw this out, to relish each gasped breath, each forbidden thought. He imagines the heat of Doran’s gaze on him, and Doran’s mouth drawn into a stern line, judging the hasty jerk of his hand, the helpless rock of his hips.

Gritting his teeth, Jasper slows his hand. Forces himself to move evenly, in long, slow strokes. He imagines Doran’s arm wrapped low around his stomach, keeping his hips from moving, and Doran’s hand teasing him, sliding slowly up the length of his cock – slowly, slowly, just like this, until Jasper is gasping and helpless in his arms.

Jasper is so close, his whole body tense and eager, pent-up pleasure burning hot in his veins, and it’s almost unbearable to keep to this rhythm, dragging his fist slowly up and down his cock, forcing his hips still. He manages it for one more breathless moment, imagining Doran’s touch, steady and controlled. Imagining Doran turning his head to press his lips to Jasper’s neck.

And just like that it’s too much, and with a low groan, Jasper gives up. Tossing his head back against the pillow, he arches his back and jerks his fist tight up and down his cock, picturing Doran watching him with bright eager eyes, waiting for the moment when – when Jasper starts to come, biting his lip, his cock pulsing messily onto his stomach, the pleasure rushing through him intense enough to wipe every other thought from his head.

-

By the time Jasper’s roommate Tris gets back from the library, Jasper is fast asleep, the sheet pulled up over him. Tris, setting his bag gently down by his desk, pauses and looks over at Jasper. Light from the spirit-lamps outside spills onto Jasper’s face, shining on his dark skin, highlighting his square jaw and the solid, balanced features of his face.

Awake, Jasper is usually grinning, his eyes sparking with some new ambitious plan, but asleep he looks different: calm and serious, like someone determined to see something through.


	3. Apocryphal

Evenfell University’s dining hall is always loud, but on the evening of the first new moon of the semester, there’s a new thrum of energy beneath the layers of conversation. An hour from now, third-year apprentice mages will enter Deimos for the first time. Their excited conversation draws in jealous younger students and fourth-years ready with advice.

At the small dining hall table where Tristan Laurell sits with his roommate Jasper, though, it’s quiet. Jasper is gazing out the window of the dining hall as he eats, and Tris, in turn, is observing Jasper. Tris remembers being sick with nerves before his first trip across realms last year, and now that it’s Jasper’s turn, Tris wants to help as much as he can.

But Jasper, being Jasper, looks calm and confident, not nervous at all. When he turns to Tris, there’s a spark of excitement in his eyes, but his voice is even. “Hey, question.”

Tris nods, eager to be of help. “Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible to have sex in the demon realm?”

Tris stares, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “What?”

The note of humor in Jasper’s expression blossoms into a wide grin. “Just curious. Academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Serious question. I mean, you don’t have to eat or drink while you’re there, right? So I was just wondering if other… functions are the same, or –”

“Well,” interrupts Tris. If he has to discuss this, he’ll take the high road and answer academically. “It’s definitely possible. Bethevas the Slayer was allegedly conceived in Deimos, after all – I mean, according to the modern understanding of realm travel, that’s likely apocryphal, but – the, the act itself…” He trails off, his cheeks burning under Jasper’s steady gaze. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“First of all, because it’s fun making you blush,” says Jasper, grinning.

It’s a common refrain when Jasper is saying ridiculous things. As usual, it makes Tris blush harder, but, with the ease of long practice, he tells himself that the rush of heat is due to annoyance, and answers, “Well, I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

“But even more importantly, I’m about to be alone with Doran for three whole nights.” Jasper leans in, eyebrows raised. “Who knows what could happen.”

Tris’s heart lurches at the mention of Master Doran. Jasper always throws himself fully into everything, including crushes, but Doran is decidedly different than anyone Jasper’s pursued in the past. Tris took a course on the demon wars with Doran last semester, and he knows how intense he is, how difficult he is to read behind that bright, impenetrable gaze. Tris doesn’t know what Jasper might be getting himself into.

Add to that the fact that Doran is Jasper’s mentor – if something goes wrong between them, the emotional harm it could do Jasper would be compounded by serious damage to his academic future. Jasper might not see that as something to worry about, but Tris does – and it’s definitely not just because, as Jasper might claim, Tris worries too much.

Tris knows he should play along with Jasper’s suggestive tone, but the whole topic has him too flustered. He frowns at Jasper instead. “Come on.”

“Okay, I’ll admit, we might not actually hook up on our first trip together. Though I’m not going to rule it out.”

Tris just sighs, and Jasper, grinning, glances out the window again. Outside, the sun is sinking behind the trees at the outer edge of Evenfell University’s campus, limning the stone buildings of the school with gold. It’s almost sunset.

When Jasper looks back at Tris, he’s grown more serious. “But honestly, Tris. There’s something between me and Doran. I could feel it.”

The heat in Jasper’s voice makes Tris’s chest grow tight. He prefers the jokes about sex to this. Because as ill-advised as he thinks Jasper’s feelings are, part of him can’t help being jealous. What would it be like to feel that way about someone? The confidence Jasper has that he and Doran will end up together, the steady-eyed determination to make it happen – Tris can’t imagine that.

The closest feeling, he thinks, would be when he’s with Jasper, and he manages to say something that makes Jasper laugh, open-mouthed and bright-eyed. When Jasper leans in to Tris, and their shoulders brush, and it feels like they’re right next to a line that would be incredibly easy to step over if only Tris had the courage, and then –

But Tris stops that train of thought, swallows the tightness in his throat, and keeps his voice light. “Look, I just hope that you’ll focus on practicing magic and hunting demons before you worry about wooing Master Doran.”

“Tris, I’m hurt. Obviously I can do both.”

“Fine, then at least tell me you’ll prioritize demon-hunting over romance. Your performance in the demon realm is a very important part of your grade this semester, you know.”

“I know, I know.”

Tris frowns. “It might not be as easy as you think.”

He thinks back to his own first year of trips to Deimos. It took him many failures and close calls to even bind two minor demons. At the thought, his thumb brushes instinctively against the two demon rings on the fingers of his left hand. He can feel the pull of them, the power eager for release, a little spark of danger even in this form. Jasper does tend to be effortlessly good at everything, but Deimos is different.

But Jasper looks unconcerned. “Okay, well, what about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you going to be okay? I know you’re basically an expert on Deimos at this point, but this will be your first time going alone.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m not an expert – but yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you get into any trouble, use that flare spell you told me about. Doran and I will drop everything and come rescue you.”

Tris can’t help smiling at the idea. “If you say so. Are you even going to be in Tallowell territory?”

“No idea. But whatever territory we’re in. Just say the word.”

“Well, if I had to guess, for your first assignment, you’ll probably be patrolling Marlyon. So, flare or no, by the time you make it to Tallowell, the demons would definitely have drained me completely. But thanks all the same.”

Jasper grimaces. “Oh. Well, send up a flare anyway and let someone else rescue you, then.”

“I will. That is to say, I won’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, you’d better be,” replies Jasper with a smile, his eyes warm on Tris’s face.

Warmth swells in Tris’s chest, and he smiles back.

The fact is, he’s sure that both he and Jasper will be fine. With last year’s experience under his belt, he’s ready for whatever he might find in Deimos. And Jasper’s smarter and more talented than he is, so Jasper will definitely be fine.

As to the Doran thing – Tris is still worried, but Jasper is his best friend, and Tris trusts him. If Jasper says it will work out, it probably will, one way or another.

But they’ll see soon enough. Around them, the tenor of the dining hall’s noise slowly changes as students start to push back their chairs and get up. Tris takes a deep breath. It’s time.


	4. Eclipse

As the sun starts to set, Jasper reports to Doran’s office. When he enters, Doran shakes his hand in greeting, and immediately a shock darts up Jasper’s spine. Feeling the warm, tingling press of Doran’s hand, he can’t help thinking of last night – of the guilty fantasies that had filled his head, the imagined heat of Doran’s touch on his body.

He’s sure the thought didn’t show on his face. Sure of it, even though Doran grips his hand for a long moment, his bright eyes searching Jasper’s, his face revealing nothing.

Then Doran looks away, gesturing at the mage’s circle inked onto the floor of his office. “Well, shall we?”

“Of course,” says Jasper quickly. Stepping over the border of runes at the edge of the circle, he sits down inside. Doran folds himself to a seat across from him.

They don’t have long to wait. Outside, the sun disappears entirely below the horizon, and inside, the black ink starts to bleed up from the edge of the circle. It swells upward, creating a wall of darkness around Doran and Jasper, and then starts to arc in, closing over their heads. As it eclipses the spirit-powered light on Doran’s ceiling, Jasper automatically gasps in a breath, like someone drowning, and then everything is pitch black and Jasper feels an unsettling sideways jerk.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the darkness recedes, and Jasper finds himself in Deimos, the realm of demons.

Jasper breathes out as he looks around. Here in Deimos the moon is full, floating just over the horizon, round and eerily bright in the strange purple sky. The air is cool and still. All around them is darkness: they’re seated on a beach of black sand that rises towards a small cliff of dark rock. Atop the cliff is a forest of tall black trees, leafless, lit starkly by the moonlight. On the other side of Jasper is the sea, a dark and churning purple, stretching out endlessly to the horizon.

Doran’s already on his feet, brusquely brushing himself off as he steps out of the circle of stones that mark the Deimos side of the gateway between realms. He’s a striking sight compared to the dark surroundings: the warmth of his light brown skin and the deep red of his robe stand out in the cool moonlight.

“Well,” he says, looking down at Jasper. “I imagine you know where we are?”

Quickly Jasper gets to his feet. Doran’s tone is pleasant, but there’s a clear expectation in his words. If Jasper had been paying attention to the runes Doran had drawn in the mage’s circle, he’d know exactly where they are. But he had been too distracted.

Even now, he’s acutely aware of Doran standing close to him, Doran’s sharp eyes on him. There’s a strange intimacy in being here together, on the wide open beach. There are no other mages nearby, just the sea and the rustle of the dark forest, and the air feels thick with danger and possibility.

Jasper swallows and searches for an answer to Doran’s question. “We’re on the eastern shore of Marlyon Territory.” He knows that much. And he remembers from the maps he’s studied in class that there are two gateways on the shore, but one is much closer to a tower, and Jasper can’t see any tower around them, just black forest. He takes his best guess. “Lambda gateway, about twenty miles from Hanna Tower. Probably.”

Doran nods. “Our task is to sweep the shore on our way to Hanna Tower, where we will check in. Tomorrow we’ll cross to Willets Tower. Any demons we meet are yours.”

The thought of demons sends a shiver down Jasper’s spine, part anticipation and part nerves, but he just smiles at Doran. “Including greater demons?”

“Well. If we see a greater demon in Marlyon, we have larger issues. But you’d certainly be welcome to try to take it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Doran looks at him with an amused quirk to his mouth. “That’s quite a goal for someone who’s never used magic before. Before you engage with an actual demon, perhaps some practice would be in order?”

Jasper nods. He can feel his spirit hot in his breast, tingling in his veins. It’s always within him, even in Aethon, but here in Deimos, where he can shape that power into actual magic, it feels hotter, wilder. It makes his palms itch. “What should I do?”

“Hm. Target that tree and make your best attack.” Doran gestures at a black tree that’s perched right at the edge of the cliff above them, spreading gnarled roots down along the cliff face.

Jasper turns to face it. His heart is racing, the pure excitement of finally getting to use magic intertwining with the cool thrill of proving his skill to Doran. He has to get this right.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, trying to center himself the way he learned, to gather all the power in his body into a single point. And then, carefully, he lets his focus slide down his arms to his hands. And his spirit follows – not in the gentle biddable stream he’d always imagined, but in a great hot rush that swells through his veins and itches under his skin, eager to escape. He’s supposed to pause at that point, to assume the right spell form, but the frantic churn of power is too great and Jasper can’t help giving in to it.

He throws his hands towards the tree in a desperate thrust that bears no resemblance to any form he’s studied, and the magic shoots from him in a beam of white light, brightening everything around them like a permanent flash of lightning. It feels amazing. Power soars through his veins and pours out of him, feeding the beam of magic. Jasper’s caught up in the exhilarating rush of it. He could do this forever.

Suddenly he feels Doran’s hand on his shoulder. He starts at the touch and that’s enough to cut off the flow of magic, and then he drops his hands to his sides, trying to breathe past the pound of his heart. He stares up at the tree. He had planned to hit the tree’s branches but it looks like most of the magic hit the trunk, burning a huge wound right through the center of it.

Doran’s grip is tight on Jasper’s shoulder. “Well. That was –”

Doran is interrupted by a loud crack. The tree is collapsing, the upper trunk and branches breaking free and tumbling off the cliff. Jasper steps back instinctively as the tree lands hard on the ground, sending up a burst of black sand.

If the tree were a demon, it would definitely be nothing but smoke by now. Not bad for Jasper’s first use of magic. He runs a hand over his head and turns to look at Doran, grinning.

But Doran’s gaze is stern. “I see we have some work to do.”

Heat rushes through Jasper. “We do? You said to attack the tree and I attacked the tree. Pretty thoroughly, I’d say.”

“Perhaps, but you had no control. Which is the most crucial quality of a great mage.”

Doran’s voice is cool and his eyes are fixed on Jasper, bright and penetrating. His gaze seems to judge Jasper – not only his use of magic, but also his reaction, as if Doran can see right through Jasper to the embarrassment and defensive anger that swells in his chest. As if Doran finds Jasper’s emotions, too, lacking the qualities of a great mage.

Or maybe that’s all in Jasper’s head. Doran’s expression is carefully blank, his words delivered with stern patience.

Jerking his head away, Jasper stares down the dark beach. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. The worst part is he knows Doran’s right. Of course control is important – Jasper’s done all the exercises in his classes, it’s just that he wasn’t expecting magic to feel so demanding, so immediate.

“Should I try again?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even.

“I suggest we start heading towards Hanna Tower. I’m sure we’ll run into some good targets for you to practice on along the way.”

Jasper takes a breath. Maybe if he has a chance to collect himself, he can do better. His magic can be both powerful and controlled, just like Doran wants.

“Sounds good,” he says, turning north up the beach. “Let’s go.”


	5. Inertia

Some parts of Deimos are tamer than others, but still, there’s no territory without its share of lurking demons – bestial lesser demons, thirsty for human blood and too unintelligent to hesitate to attack mages. Jasper and Doran haven’t walked far into Marlyon territory before they find one.

At first, when he sees the demon swooping towards them from the corner of his eye, Jasper thinks it’s a bird. But there are no birds in Deimos, and this is definitely a demon: white and featherless, with moonlight visible through the skin of its batlike wings. A small adamant gem glows red on its chest, and its mouth is full of silvery fangs.

Compared to the demons in the stories Jasper used to read, a single lesser demon isn’t much of a threat. But still, the sight of it, black-eyed and vicious, is enough to send Jasper’s heart leaping into his throat. He forgets what he and Doran had just been talking about and can only feel the eager vibration of his spirit in his chest, ready to attack.

Jasper freezes, staring up at the demon, and Doran follows his gaze. “Ah, now this should be a good test,” says Doran, stepping back, so that Jasper is alone in the swooping path of the demon.

Jasper takes a deep breath.

Focusing inward, he gathers all his power into a tight, pulsing knot in his chest, and then he sends it rushing down his arms. This time, he’s prepared for the hot, tingling thrill of it, the leap of power under his skin, eager to get out. He holds it back as he raises his arms, making attack handshapes the way he’d practiced, aiming at the demon. And then – yes – lets the power go, sending a bright beam of magic at the demon.

The demon twists aside in midair, avoiding Jasper’s attack, its black eyes unblinking.

Jasper grits his teeth and pours more power into the beam, widening it, trying to moving his hand to follow the demon. But it’s hard to adjust his aim when he’s fighting the inertia of the magic, and the demon dodges easily out of the way.

The power running through Jasper’s veins is distracting, the hot exhilarating pulse of it. It’s clear that this spell form is too unwieldy to hit the demon, but still it’s tempting to hold it for one moment longer, then another, letting the beam of magic sizzle into the sky as the demon dodges around it.

Doran’s voice comes from behind Jasper: “Perhaps the third form would be more appropriate?”

Of course it would be. With a gasp, Jasper gives up on the first attack form, dropping his hands. The last shimmering bits of magic dissipate into the air as the demon circles overhead, untouched.

Jasper can feel Doran’s gaze on him, expectant, and he feels a rush of cool determination. This time, he takes a form with his palms together. When he sends magic at the demon, he twists his hands outward, letting magic burst from him for only a heartbeat, then brings his hands back together. Instead of a wide beam, the attack is a single bolt of magic.

It works – the bolt darts rapidly through the sky and catches the demon at an angle, slicing into it. It screams, spiraling to the side, black smoke spilling from a tear in its wing.

Jasper grins and barely resists glancing back to see Doran’s reaction. But no, he has to press his advantage. Aiming at the demon, which is rising higher on furious, lopsided wingbeats, he opens his hands to send another bolt at it. But the excitement of his success only magnifies the thrilling rush of casting magic, and once he lets his power flow out of him, he can’t manage to stop it. So he keeps his hands facing outward for too long, and the power shoots out in a narrow, clumsy beam, and the demon lurches aside, avoiding it.

Gritting his teeth, Jasper forces his hands together, cutting off the flow of magic. His heart is pounding in his ears. He has to do better than this.

Trying to focus, he runs through the third form again – hands together, spirit tingling in his palms, a breath in, then release – and sends a bright white bolt slicing through the sky towards the demon.

The demon screams, and for a second Jasper thinks he hit it – but no, his attack went wide, sizzling pointlessly into the sky. The demon is attacking. It’s diving, fangs first, shockingly fast. Jasper drops the spell form and stumbles backwards, panicked, throwing his arm over his face.

He should do something, use more magic – but it’s on him, its eerie scream all around him. He stumbles down to the sand and it follows, its claws scratching his arms. It’s trying to bite him, its cold smooth head pushing between his arms to get at his face, its fangs catching in his cheek –

There’s a burst of heat right next to Jasper, and the demon is gone.

With a gasp he lets his arms drop. Where the demon was, there’s only a patch of black smoke dissipating into the air, and shattered bits of adamant in the sand, clear and powerless. Doran is standing in front of him, the glow of magic just fading from one hand.

“Oh,” says Jasper, breathless. He doesn’t look up at Doran. “Thanks.”

His heart is still racing and the relief flooding through him feels a lot like shame. Part of him is angry at Doran, for interfering – but mostly he’s just angry with himself. After all his stupid fantasies of proving himself an incredible mage and making Doran his, here he is, defeated by one wimpy little demon.

“Are you all right?” asks Doran, kneeling down next to Jasper.

The scratches on Jasper’s arms sting, and judging by the throb of the cut on his cheek, he might be bleeding. But he doesn’t want any sympathy right now.

“Yeah, except for my pride,” he says, and feels a tiny bit better when he sees the corner of Doran’s mouth quirk up.

“I’m sure it will heal in time,” Doran tells him dryly. “Now, let’s see about this scratch.”

Reaching out, he takes Jasper by the chin, turning his face to examine the cut on his cheek.

Despite himself, Jasper feels heat flush his face. He’s suddenly aware of how near Doran is, kneeling close to Jasper on the empty beach. Doran’s face feels so close to Jasper’s, the angle of his jaw, the line of his mouth. The heat of his gaze, which jumps from the cut to trace to rest of Jasper’s face.

Jasper can’t help being drawn in. He can’t help looking up to meet the bright gold-green of Doran’s eyes – even if it means his whole pathetic heart is on display, all of his shame and frustration open to Doran’s penetrating gaze.

Doran pauses. “I certainly hope you won’t feel discouraged.” His voice is firm. “Nobody could wield magic perfectly on their first try.”

Jasper forces a rueful smile. “That was pretty miserable, though.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Abruptly Doran lets go of Jasper’s chin and reaches for his arm, lifting it to examine the scratches. “You’re lacking control. Hardly surprising for a new and perhaps slightly overconfident mage. But the power at your disposal is...” For a moment, Doran’s hand tightens around Jasper’s wrist. “… Impressive.”

The word sends a slow, warm thrill through Jasper. “Oh yeah?”

“But,” continues Doran sternly, “as I hope you’ve learned, power is not worth much without control.”

“I know,” says Jasper, but the thought doesn’t erase the warm glow of Doran finding him impressive. His mind is already leaping ahead, planning the wonders he’ll accomplish soon enough. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it next time.”

Doran gives him a small smile. “I look forward to it.”


	6. Bloom

“Now,” says Doran, leaning close, his hands still on Jasper’s arm. “Hold still. This might feel a bit strange.”

He presses two fingers to Jasper’s arm, right next to one of the scratches left by the demon’s claws. Magic starts to glow around his fingers, a soft light, and heat pulses into Jasper’s skin.

Jasper blinks. It feels strange, like Doran’s magic is trying to slide under his skin. As Doran draws his fingers slowly along Jasper’s arm, they leave a trail of soothing warmth. The demon’s scratches are gone, leaving only Jasper’s own dark, smooth skin.

Jasper stares. “You can heal?”

“It’s a very useful art. It’s unfortunate that it’s so specialized nowadays.” Doran lets go of Jasper’s right arm and picks up his left, scanning it closely and then carefully pressing his fingers to the scratches.

Jasper tries not to squirm at the itch of magic against his skin. “Can you teach me?”

Doran’s eyes flick up to Jasper’s, amused. “I’d consider it, although I’m afraid you have a long way to go before you reach that point.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Jasper’s voice comes out a little breathless. Doran’s healing is distracting: the soft friction of his touch, the hot, strange rush of his magic. The blissful warmth afterwards.

“I will admit, magical healing is rarely necessary these days.” Doran gently releases Jasper’s arm and looks up. “But it can certainly make things a bit less unpleasant.”

“Yeah –” starts Jasper, but his breath catches when Doran takes him by the chin again, turning his face and lifting a hand to his cheek. Jasper tries to breathe normally, even through the shock of Doran’s touch, the hot pulse of magic that drowns out the twinge of pain from the cut. He stares out across the dark sea, trying to force his heartbeat to slow.

Doran’s movements are businesslike and his face is serious. But Jasper can’t help thinking there’s something intimate about his touch, the slow, careful pressure of his fingers. This is hardly a life-threatening injury, so it must mean something that Doran is willing to pause here, to offer this to Jasper.

The ache of want that Jasper’s been carrying around blooms hot in his chest. Unlike some of his fantasies from before, the images that come to mind now are close enough to reality that he can almost feel them: Doran’s hand sliding to cup his cheek. Doran’s fingers on his jaw, gently turning his face. Doran leaning in to press his mouth to Jasper’s, his lips soft and insistent, hot with promise.

Jasper swallows. These are dangerous thoughts to have when Doran is this close. His heart is pounding and there’s heat burning his cheeks, merging with the tingle of Doran’s magic.

Although now, he realizes, Doran is done – the sting of the cut has been replaced by a line of gentle warmth across his cheek. But Doran is still, his hands unmoving on Jasper’s face.

Jasper raises his eyes to meet Doran’s. Doran’s gaze is as hard to read as ever, but now, with the swell of his own want filling his chest, Jasper can’t help seeing desire reflected back at him. Excitement shudders through him, and his lips part as he draws in a shallow breath.

Doran’s eyes flick down to Jasper’s mouth, just for a heartbeat, just long enough for a hot thrill to spark down Jasper’s spine, and then Doran’s gaze jumps away.

Calmly, Doran lets go of Jasper’s face. “Well, there you are.” He settles his hands in his lap and gives Jasper a small, tight smile. “I hope that’s a bit better.”

Jasper tries to get his voice working normally. “Y-yeah, definitely.” His cheek, when he brings his fingers gingerly to it, is warm and unmarked. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” answers Doran quietly. His gaze stays trained on Jasper for one more moment, and then he looks away, rising to his feet. “Now. We had better head towards Hanna Tower if we don’t want to be caught out and about after moonset.”

“Right,” says Jasper, a little shakily.

And there’s nothing for him to do but get to his feet and follow after Doran, his skin still warm with the ghost of Doran’s touch.

–

Far from Jasper and Doran, there’s a place deep in the forest where the hill is laid open like a corpse, and the adamant innards shine under the moon like blood.

Small demons swarm over the exposed crystals, chipping at them with beaks and claws, bearing them up and out with paws and wings. Each demon has its own small adamant gem giving it life, and each wears a collar of iron around its neck, binding its life to the red-robed mages who stand above the mine.

Nearby, a figure pauses in the shadows to observe. The figure’s face is grim. He doesn’t feel bad for the worker demons, who don’t have the intelligence to care about their bondage, but he does hate to see the adamant taken from the ground and given over to the mages. Left alone, that adamant would gain power, charging slowly underground, until a piece of it was potent enough to form its own body. And then it would rise, a new demon, a physical being born of shadows with adamant for a heart. Maybe it would be one of these demons, weak and mindless – the figure calls them terevant – or maybe it would find itself a soul and become a kirath, like the figure himself, intelligent, powerful, and proud.

It’s that thought that makes the figure pause, gazing at the mages who run the mine with hatred.

It’s dangerous for him to be here. The magical boundaries erected by the mages were no trouble, of course, but a confrontation with a group of them might be. So he stays in the shadows, watching.

But he is distracted, as always, by the deep ache of hunger in his belly. To see mages in this realm is a rarity, and just seeing them from afar – the glint of their eyes and teeth as they chat with each other, the flush of blood under their skin – sends a pang of hunger through him.

These mages won’t do – there are too many of them. Leaving the mine behind, the figure melts back into the forest in search of other prey.


	7. Deadly

The area of the demon realm known as Tallowell was conquered by mages decades ago, making it one of the tamer territories, inhabited only by those small demons who have managed a lucky escape from a demon-hunter’s magic. For someone like Tristan Laurell, fourth-year apprentice mage at Evenfell University, Tallowell shouldn’t present much of a challenge.

That’s what Tris tells himself, but right now, when he’s alone in the dark forest, it’s hard to remember.

Tris is passing through the heart of the territory, where the forest spreads thick over rolling hills. The trees, tall and leafless, seem to move as he passes them: springing forward when the moonlight hits them, shifting and merging when they fall under purple shadows. Tris’s breath catches each time, his fists clenching at his sides, hot with spirit magic he can unleash on any demon that tries to attack.

It doesn’t help that he’s distracted by thoughts of Jasper. Jasper was confident about his first trip to Deimos, but what if something goes wrong? Tris pictures Jasper struggling against a swarm of hatchling demons – small but fast, too many for him to fight. He imagines Jasper injured and forced to retreat to Aethon early. Jasper would be crushed.

Tris shakes his head, trying to focus on something else. There are no demons jumping out at him, and Jasper will be fine too, he tells himself. He imagines that instead – Jasper facing down a demon, determination written on his face. Jasper shifting into the first attack form, his feet planted, his back straight, his arms extended towards an attacking demon, just like an illustration from one of their textbooks.

No, thinks Tris, it would be more like the cover of one of Jasper’s novels – one that depicts a war mage, scarlet sash flying, facing down a sea of black-eyed demons. The idea makes Tris smile. He’s already looking forward to seeing Jasper two days from now, back in Aethon. Warmth swells in Tris’s chest at the thought of Jasper grinning, overflowing with tales of his adventures, and he feels himself relax a little.

That’s when he sees a dark figure in the trees.

Tris freezes. The figure is clearly a person, but it’s not wearing a mage’s robes. No – as Tris stares, he can pick out the shape of the figure’s head against the deeper shadows of the forest. It has two long horns.

A greater demon.

Panic surges up Tris’s throat. He’s never faced a greater demon before. He _should_ be able to take it – probably – assuming it’s alone… He spins, searching the dark forest around him for other demons, but sees nothing.

Heart pounding, he turns back to the spot where the demon had been. But there’s nothing there but trees, spreading their spindly branches across the sky.

Tris stares. Did the demon leave? Is it possible he imagined it?

He’s certain of the pound of his heart and the tingling pressure of magic in his veins, but can’t be sure of much else. From everything he’s read, a greater demon would hardly be shy of confrontation – not when Tris is clearly alone. Maybe that wasn’t actually a greater demon?

Steeling himself, he calls out, “Who’s there?” His voice comes out high and shaky.

The forest is utterly quiet in response. Tris swallows hard. He must have imagined it – it must have been some tree branches in a chance configuration. It doesn’t make sense for a greater demon to be here, anyway. There are magical barriers around mage-controlled territories like Tallowell that would prevent it coming in.

Tris takes one last look at the forest around him, dark and still, and then takes a shuddering breath and keeps walking.

That’s when the figure slips out from behind a tree in front of him. It’s close enough now that Tris can see it perfectly – a greater demon, tall and horned and deadly. 

Tris can only stare. The demon is beautiful.

Other than the horns, the demon’s body is human – tall and slender, poised slightly forward like a hunting cat, all bare golden brown skin except for a short wrap around his hips and gold jewelry glinting at his wrists and neck and ears. His eyes are pure black, as dark and cold as the depths of the sea.

The demon looks at Tris for a moment, and then his mouth crooks into a grin, or maybe just a baring of teeth. And then he steps closer.

Tris’s heart lurches into his throat. The demon is only a few steps away from him, and Tris is too panicked to do anything but try to get away, stumbling over the roots on the forest floor, afraid to look away from the demon’s dark gaze.

The demon stalks closer, moving with a deadly grace. His movements are even and unhurried, and his hair, bound with gold into a long queue, sways behind him in a gentle rhythm. 

Desperately, Tris tries to focus his spirit. But as he tries to gather enough magic for an attack, the power slips out of his control and diffuses through his body, making all his hair stand on end. He shudders, his heart going rabbit-fast in his chest, his arms shaking as he aims his hands at the demon, struggling to gather enough power for an attack.

He just has to focus – he’s normally good at this –

And then, without warning, the demon springs towards him, lightning-fast. Tris feels a cry of terror surge up his throat but he doesn’t even manage that before the demon is on him, a lean, powerful mass bearing him backwards, slamming him into a tree.

Before he can react, the demon has him by the wrists, forcing his hands above his head. The demon’s face is very close to his, those ink-black eyes and a sudden flash of pointed teeth.

Panic surges through Tris and he struggles, but the demon’s grip holds. Tris feels magic burn in him like wildfire, rushing up his arms – he can send up a flare, call for help – but his magic is blocked by the cool grip of the demon’s hands around his wrists.

Tris is trapped.


	8. Rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, we're getting into some dubcon territory now!

Tris closes his eyes, feeling some of the panic drain from him now that the situation is futile. He’s trapped, pinned against the tree by the demon, his magic useless. All he can do is wait for the demon’s next move.

He’s wondered, before, what this would feel like – a demon’s teeth sinking into his throat, his life force being drawn from his veins. The descent of darkness. He shudders, steeling himself.

But, several breaths later, there are still no teeth at his throat. After a moment he can’t help opening his eyes.

The demon’s teeth are bared in a small, sharp grin. “You have a very interesting face, mageling.”

“Interesting?” croaks Tris.

“Your expressions.” The demon easily shifts Tris’s wrists so he can hold them with one hand and brings the other to Tris’s face, stroking his cheek. His fingers are cool as the night air, and Tris shivers.

He feels like a rabbit pinned by a predator’s gaze. All he can do is stare at the demon, wide-eyed, his heart drumming against his ribs, his mouth twisting with half-formed words he can’t manage to get out.

“Like that one,” murmurs the demon. Still cupping Tris’s cheek, he steps closer, until he’s pressed against Tris’s body.

The demon’s body feels lean and solid against Tris’s. Tris swallows hard, aware suddenly of how vulnerable he is like this, his arms pinned above his head. Aware, too, of how little the demon is wearing. Of the hungry pressure of his gaze.

Despite himself, Tris feels a hot shudder of excitement run through him. His mind goes to the old fairy tales, the ones where handsome demon princes seduce human maidens into immorality.

But those stories never made sense as anything but allegory. Why would a greater demon bother with seduction? Once they’re close enough for that, they could just kill the human and drain their blood outright.

And yet. The demon’s hand slides down and his thumb catches on Tris’s lower lip. Slowly he traces the line of Tris’s lip, and Tris can’t help shivering at the friction of the touch. He feels a shock of arousal burn through his veins, twining with the cold of fear and the buzz of unspent magic.

“What’re you –?” he tries, his voice hoarse.

The demon nudges Tris’s mouth shut with his thumb and Tris falls silent, swallowing, trapped by the demon’s dark, unblinking gaze. The demon just smiles. “You’re an innocent one, aren’t you?”

Heat pricks Tris’s cheeks. He knows he’s missing something here. Maybe, he thinks, it’s normal for a demon to play with his meal before he kills it.

In that case, Tris shouldn’t give him the pleasure. He should die with honor, not trembling at a demon’s touch.

He drags in a breath and then bucks against the demon’s grip, struggling to pull his hands free. “Let me go!”

But the demon’s body is unyielding against Tris’s, and his grin only widens. “I don’t think so.”

“Then just kill me and get it over with.”

The demon raises his eyebrows. “I’m not going to kill you, mageling.”

“Y-you’re not?”

The demon shifts his hand on Tris’s jaw, turning Tris’s chin gently up as he leans closer.

“Why would I, when you’re so delicious like this?”

And Tris can only stare, pinned and helpless, as the demon leans in and kisses him.

Tris stiffens, expecting the sting of teeth, or maybe some unknown magic. But there’s nothing to this but a kiss: the soft, insistent pressure of the demon’s lips against Tris’s. The demon’s mouth is cold but still the kiss sends heat flooding through Tris’s body, a rush of confusion and desperate want.

He can’t help leaning into the kiss with a little gasp, and he feels the demon shift closer still, the movement languid and self-satisfied, a slow roll of his body that ends in his mouth pressing even harder to Tris’s.

Tris can only kiss back, his eyes shut tight. He shouldn’t want this, he knows, but he can’t help it. He feels out of control right now, helpless in the demon’s grip, dragged along by a rush of need.

In contrast, the demon kisses him with perfect control, his mouth gentle but insistent. Carefully his thumb traces Tris’s jaw, nudging Tris’s mouth open, and then when Tris’s lips part the demon’s tongue pushes into his mouth, slick and forceful.

Tris shudders, arousal pulsing hot through his body, all of the adrenaline from earlier burning up in his veins. He’s never been kissed like this. The demon’s kiss is deep and wet and hungry, a kiss that swallows all of Tris’s breath, that sparks a slow, hot thrum through Tris’s whole body.

Tris know he’s probably still going to die, but it’s hard to care.

He tilts his head into the kiss and arches his back to press closer to the demon’s body, bare and strong against his. The demon makes a low, pleased noise, his grip tightening around Tris’s wrists, and then his other hand slides between their bodies to the front of Tris’s pants.

Tris jerks at the touch, gasping into the demon’s mouth. For a second he tries to pull away, twisting his arms, but the weight of the demon’s body keeps him pinned. The demon’s hand curls around his cock, squeezing him through his pants, and Tris collapses helpless against the tree.

All he can think about is the demon’s touch. It’s like his body was waiting for this, his cock already hard from the demon’s mouth and body against his, his hips already primed to rock forward. Tris can’t help rolling his hips, rubbing himself against the demon’s hand, gasping open-mouthed into the kiss.

He can feel the demon’s lips curl into a grin. “ _Enkileth_ ,” murmurs the demon, and Tris can’t tell if it’s a curse or a promise.


	9. Blissful

Back in Aethon, when the moon is new, the sky is so clear and so black that the pinprick lights of stars only serve to demonstrate the full depth of darkness. That’s how Tris feels as he rocks his hips forward into the demon’s touch – being at the demon’s mercy scares him, but the fear that sparks electric through his veins only serves to heighten the need that swells in him, vast and overwhelming.

All Tris can do is press forward against the tantalizing pressure of the demon’s hand, arching his back against the tree, his mouth sliding messily against the demon’s. Pleasure surges through him, dizzying, yet not at all enough to sate the universe of need inside him. He can’t help gasping a quiet, eager noise against the demon’s mouth.

At that, the demon’s lips curl into a smile, and he reaches up to tug open Tris’s belt. Tris’s breath catches. The demon undoes Tris’s pants and slides his hand into them, and Tris can’t stop his hips tilting forward, his whole body tensing as he waits for the moment that – oh – that the demon’s hand curls around his cock.

A helpless shiver runs through Tris. The demon’s grip is tight and cool, thrillingly different than anything he’s has felt before. His hips rock forward and the silk-soft friction of the demon’s fist around him pushes all the air out of him in a shaky moan.

“That’s right, little mageling,” murmurs the demon, giving Tris a few long strokes, his black eyes trained hungrily on Tris’s face. Tris shudders, his eyes falling shut.

For a long moment, the demon strokes him, building a slow, even rhythm. Then, suddenly, he twists his hand, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Tris’s cock, spreading slick precome over the head. Tris gasps, trembling at the sensation, his hands curling into fists where they’re pinned above him. The head of his cock feels so sensitive that the slick friction of the demon’s touch is almost unbearable, and Tris squirms, making a little noise like a whimper.

And then, abruptly, the demon pulls his hand away completely. Tris’s heart lurches and he opens his eyes.

The demon is still braced with one hand around Tris’s wrists, leaning over Tris, his body glowing like gold in the moonlight. His grin is a fox’s grin as he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it, slow and wet, as if eager to taste every last trace of Tris on it. The sight sends a long shudder rolling through Tris, squeezing the breath from his lungs, twisting hot in his stomach.

The demon smiles. “Ah, you’re just as tasty as I thought you’d be.”

Heat flushes Tristan’s cheeks, first a base, eager pleasure at the words and then a rush of confusion and shame at that reaction. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He shouldn’t be thinking of anything but fighting this demon – but instead all he can think about is the demon touching him more. He aches for it, his heart shuddering in his chest, his hips giving trembling jerks.

The demon grins at Tris’s reaction and reaches for him again.

The demon’s hand is soft but his grip on Tris’s cock is tight. Tris groans, his eyes falling shut, his head falling back against the tree. His shoulders and wrists ache, and the rough bark of the tree is digging into his back, but all of that is distant – all of his attention is on the demon’s hand around his cock, the tight, fast rhythm of it, sending need spiraling through his veins.

Even with his eyes closed, Tris can feel the pressure of the demon’s attention on him, and it’s only growing more and more focused. The demon isn’t even kissing Tris now, just working his cock, quick even strokes that echo the desperate pound of Tris’s heart. Tris, overwhelmed, can only gasp, open-mouthed, hips rocking eagerly into the demon’s touch.

The tension gathering inside him is unmistakable. He’s getting close to coming – in the middle of Deimos, in the cold hands of a demon, his mouth tingling from the demon’s kiss, his body flushing under the demon’s black-eyed gaze.

The thought makes Tris gasps out a helpless little noise like a laugh.

Suddenly the demon presses close again, and his mouth finds Tris’s. Tris’s laugh turns into a moan and the demon swallows it, his mouth working against Tris’s, his fist unrelenting on Tris’s cock.

It’s too much.

The final, tiny amount of control Tris had shatters and he cries out, his body tensing. He comes harder than he ever has before, white-hot pleasure rushing through him, his cock spilling in thick pulses into the demon’s hand.

Even after the peak has passed, the demon keeps stroking him, slow tight pulls that wring a few last, desperate pulses of pleasure from him. Tris whimpers, helpless, as the demon’s hand gradually slows.

Finally Tris collapses back against the tree, breathing hard. At some point the demon has let go of Tris’s wrists, and he lets his arms sink to his sides, and then, eventually, opens his eyes.

Instantly he’s pinned by the demon’s bottomless gaze as, slowly, the demon raises his hand to his mouth.

In the moonlight, Tris can see that the demon’s hand is messy with come – _Tris’s_ come. Tris shudders, heat springing to his cheeks. He wants to look away, but he can’t seem to break the demon’s gaze as the demon brings his hand to his mouth and licks his palm, slowly, swallowing Tris’s come like he’s hungry for it.

Tris suddenly can’t breathe. This has the most perverse thing that’s happened so far, but somehow, watching it makes his stomach do an eager flip and brings a hot, pleased flush to his face. It’s something about how blissful the demon looks – his eyes are half-lidded as he sucks each of his fingers into his mouth and then dips his tongue between them, chasing every last taste.

The demon doesn’t stop until he’s cleaned his hand completely. He drags his tongue up his wrist to catch the very last drop and then, finally, he lets his hand fall and closes his eyes for a moment, breathing a slow sigh.

Tris stares at him, his heart pounding, his mind buzzing. Looking at the satiated expression on the demon’s face, his only thought is that this must be another way for a demon to drain a person’s lifeforce.

If that’s the case, then this demon is no different than a demon that drinks blood. Tris’s duty is to destroy him.

Or to bind him, he thinks, and can’t stop a shiver of excitement running down his spine at the thought of controlling the demon. Of being able to make the demon touch him again.

Suddenly he’s aware of his hands now free at his sides, the magic tingling in his fingertips. Before he can do anything, though, the demon’s eyes open and he smiles, his teeth bright and pointed.

“Delicious.”

Heat burns Tris’s cheeks. “Y-you –”

“Thank you for that, mageling. I’ll be seeing you.”

And, with a last smile, the demon turns back to the forest. The moonlight catches on his gold-tipped horns and his long black hair, bound with gold and sparkling with small jewels like stars in a night sky.

Tris’s heart lurches. “Hey – w-wait!”

The demon doesn’t turn. Tris, his heart hammering, raises his hands and taking a shaking attack form. But when he focuses on his spirit, he feels spent and empty, with only wisps of power left to draw on.

And by the time he takes a handful of shuddering breaths, the demon has disappeared completely into the dark.


	10. Marked

Radner Tower stands tall and gray above the forests of Tallowell territory. It was built long ago by greater demons, who plated it with black marble and hung gold and purple banners from its windows, but now that it’s under the control of mages, it’s bare stone, stark and unyielding. It’s not cozy, but it does feel like a stronghold, and Tris makes it there as quickly as he can.

In the hall at the base of the tower, there’s a mage seated at a desk who marks down Tris’s name and asks, “Anything of note?”

Tris swallows. The encounter with the greater demon is so present in his mind it’s like it just happened – like he can still feel the cool pressure of the demon’s touch, like his mouth is still tingling from the demon’s kiss.

He wonders if it’s obvious. If the flush on his face is marked, somehow, as sexual; if the demon’s touch has left a permanent mark on him, a stain on his mouth like a bruise. If he holds himself differently now, like someone who’s done something forbidden.

He knows he should report the sighting of a greater demon immediately. The demon’s presence in Tallowell must mean there’s some kind of barrier breach, which would need to be repaired, and the demon himself needs to be sought out and dealt with before he endangers anyone else.

But the idea of revealing what happened makes Tris’s heart lurch in his chest. He can’t tell anyone that he let a demon kiss him, that he let a demon touch him, or worst of all that he – that he wanted it.

“Mr. Laurell?” The mage at the desk peers at him. “Anything of note happen on your patrol?”

“No! Nothing.”

“No demons sighted?”

Tris shakes his head, rubbing his wrist. “N-not this time.”

The mage nods and makes a quick mark in her ledger. “Okay, thank you.”

Tris hurries up the spiral stairs and finds the room that’s been set up as a dormitory. It’s a plain room filled with rows of cots, simple accommodations for demon hunters, who sleep through Deimos’s pitch black day before setting out again when the moon rises. Tris’s nerves are worn and his spirit is reduced to a weak pulse struggling in his chest, and sleep sounds wonderful right now.

Once he’s in bed, though, he can’t seem to sleep. When he closes his eyes, he just sees the demon – his black eyes, his narrow elegant face, his body in all its bareness. Tris keeps replaying in his head everything that happened, at first searching for a way things could have gone differently, thinking that next time he’ll put up a stronger defense. But soon enough he’s just reliving it, the thrill of the demon’s kiss, the terrible perfection of the demon’s touch.

Tris squirms under the blanket, biting his lip. There are mages all around him, some talking in low voices, some already asleep, but that doesn’t curb the current of arousal that builds in him at the thought of the demon’s touch. He curls up on his side and forces himself to take deep breaths, trying to put aside the mental image of the demon’s grin.

Searching for a different topic, his mind jumps to Jasper – but the thought of Jasper is almost worse. Jasper can never know about this. Not Jasper, the hero of his own adventure story, who’d gladly hunt down every last demon in the realm. Not Jasper, the romantic who believes in fated connections.

Not Jasper, the boy who Tris used to think about when he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating, dreaming of a body pressed to his. The boy who Tris used to roll over and look at across their dark dorm room, letting himself imagine, just for a heartbeat, what it would be like if the touch in his dreams was Jasper’s.

And then Tris would turn back over and not thinking about those things again, not ever. And that’s what he’ll have to do now.

Even if it’s so much harder, now that those halfway-glimpsed dreams have been replaced by actual memories – memories as real as the lingering imprint of cool lips against his, as inescapable as a hand tight around his wrists.

Tris shudders and rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow. He still has two more nights in Deimos. He has to forget this and go back to normal. Somehow.

-

In Marlyon territory, Jasper and Doran find their way to Hanna Tower. It’s distant from Radner but otherwise identical, one of the two dozen towers that march in lines across Deimos. Jasper has never been in any of them, and he looks around the stark stone interior with interest.

There are other apprentice mages there who Jasper knows, but he doesn’t want to socialize – he’s not excited to explain everything that’s happened tonight. On the other hand, it would feel strange to go right to bed. He wishes he could eat a meal, just to mark the passage of time, but there’s no food to be found, since humans in Deimos live on magic alone.

So, instead, he stands by one of the tower’s narrow windows and looks out over the shifting purple sea. Looking down from this height makes him think of the climax of the third Pax Wyrkly book – with the demon army marching on the tower, and Pax and his ragtag gang of mages and fighters looking down at the horde, outnumbered but resolute.

In the book, the tower was a home for Pax and his friends. Not permanently, since even soldiers in the demon wars had to go back to Aethon eventually, but still a place to be together, to gather their strength. Will Jasper ever feel that comfortable here in the demon realm? Enough to look out from this tower and feel in control of everything he sees, like Pax did?

He wants to. He needs to. Being scared and uncertain is exhausting, and Jasper hates it.

Doran’s voice startles him from his thoughts. “See anything interesting?”

Jasper turns. The only light in the tower is torches – adamant has to be tightly controlled in Deimos, even in powdered form, because of the risk of demon generation – and Doran’s face seems to shift in the flickering torchlight. One moment, the light catches on his sharp cheekbones and shines in his eyes, making him look fierce and excited, and the next, the flame shifts and he’s cast in shadow, distant and serious.

Jasper wants to stare, but instead he glances back out the window. “Trees and water, mostly.”

“Good to know there’s no demon army out there, preparing an ambush.”

The image is similar enough to the Pax Wyrkly scene to make Jasper grin. “Is it? Didn’t I say I was looking for another chance to test my demon-fighting skills?”

“Ah, yes. Well, without commenting on your readiness to take on an entire demon army, I do expect you must be tired. Being low on spirit power can be unsettling when you’re not used to it.”

“Right,” says Jasper. “I guess the demon army will have to wait.”

When he turns his attention to his spirit, though, it doesn’t feel very low. It’s still warm and glowing in his chest, still itching to be cast.

But even so, Jasper is tired. According to his internal clock, the sun should rise soon – of course, this is Deimos, so it won’t, but it does mean it’s been a long time since he slept. He stifles a yawn.

Doran looks amused. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

His tone is firm, without a hint of suggestiveness, but the words send a little thrill down Jasper’s spine anyway. He grins. “Sounds good to me.”

In the shifting light of the torches, he thinks he sees the corner of Doran’s mouth quirk up. But Doran’s voice is neutral as he says, “Very well, then,” and turns towards the row of beds.

Jasper follows after him, still smiling. He has two more nights in Deimos. He still feels anxious about what’s to come, but, somehow, he finds himself leaning towards optimism at the moment.


	11. Hypothetically

Jasper dreams about Doran’s demon rings. He and Doran are in Doran’s office, standing in the bright Aethon sunlight, and Doran is carefully taking the rings off and sliding them onto Jasper’s arm, one by one, his hands moving slow and firm and warm on Jasper’s skin.

Each ring sparks against Jasper’s skin, a powerful sensation that’s almost painful, much stronger than the tingle of a real-life demon ring. It’s like each ring is spilling more power into his veins, until he feels hot and flush with magic, until he’s nearly overflowing, his breath coming fast and shaky. But Doran just keeps going, his eyes bright and insistent, offering ring after ring like he’s giving Jasper everything he has. 

“Jasper.”

Jasper wakes with a gasp. Doran is leaning close, his hand is on Jasper’s shoulder, his eyes as bright and green as in the dream. And Jasper feels as powerful as he did in the dream, his spirit brimmingly full, making his chest feel tight and hot.

He blinks up at Doran, trying to sort out dream from reality. Doran’s definitely still wearing his demon rings, at least the ones on his fingers and wrists that Jasper can see. And Jasper knows that giving someone demon rings like that wouldn’t work – you’d need to do the full ritual to transfer control.

Still, there was something about the dream that felt real, more like a memory than a dream.

Doran straightens. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

“Weird,” says Jasper, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his head.

Doran smiles. “Well, that’s common enough. Most people are surprised by the sensation of full spirit power after their first day in Deimos.”

Jasper draws in a breath and feels the shape of it in his chest, as if his spirit were a physical presence pressed against his lungs. Exhales and feels a shiver run through him, power tingling under his skin. “Right.”

“And it’s said that some people tend to ‘bounce back’ after large expenditures of magic, and draw even more power than they normally would. It’s not been proven empirically, though.”

Jasper nods. He definitely feels more powerful than he did when they first entered the demon realm, but he can’t tell if it’s just the normal regeneration of sleep or some other factor. But he knows there’s an urgency to the power, a call for action. It’s more pleasant than it is uncomfortable – but only barely.

He looks up at Doran. “Can we go hunt demons now?”

-

Jasper’s practically vibrating by the time they finally find a demon – a strange dark shape watching them from a tree, in one of rocky Marlyon’s wooded valleys. At first Jasper can’t make sense of the demon’s hunched silhouette. Then it lurches forward, gripping the branch it’s on with four legs and reaching forward with two more legs to grab another branch. It looks like a cross between a sloth and a spider.

The demon swings closer, peering down at them with round black eyes, its sharp claws digging into the bark. Jasper’s heart leaps into his throat and magic itches in his palms. He glances over at Doran.

Doran meets his eyes. “Remember, Jasper. Focus on control.”

“Right,” says Jasper breathlessly, turning back to the demon. But when he steps into the first attack form, gathering his spirit in his chest, he can barely form the right handshapes before the power surges out of him.

A beam of magic blasts from Jasper’s hands into the trees, sending broken branches tumbling to the ground. Jasper’s heart is pounding in his ears and his heart is soaring at the feeling of the power flowing out of him, and he watches eagerly for the demon fall to the ground, defeated.

But there’s no sign of the demon. He can’t tell beyond the wide, shining beam of magic what happened to it. Reluctantly he grits his teeth and drops the spell form.

Magic churns inside him like a wave slamming into a cliff, which would be distracting enough, even if he weren’t suddenly aware again of Doran watching him. Jasper ignores the heat that pricks his cheeks at the thought of Doran’s judgment and peers into the treetops. Maybe he blew the demon away completely? No, there it is, sheltering behind a tree trunk, its head peeking out to stare at Jasper, as if it’s judging him too.

Annoyance swells hot in Jasper’s chest and he brings his arms back up, aiming directly at the demon’s head. Let it try to hide – he has enough power to burn this whole territory to a crisp. Dragging in a breath, he lets his spirit flow through his arms, ready to blast the demon into smoke.

“Jasper,” says Doran sternly, stepping forward and grabbing Jasper’s arm.

When he touches Jasper’s sleeve, there’s a spark between them like static electricity, strong enough to be almost painful. Jasper starts at the sensation, cutting off the flow of power at the last minute.

The shock reminds him of the sensation in his dream – a potent transfer of energy.

Doran snatches his hand away, looking startled. “Oh. Was that…?”

Jasper looks at him, curious. “What?”

But Doran frowns. “Something to talk about later. For now, Jasper, I’m wondering how you consider an unfocused first form blast to be a good example of _control_.”

Jasper blinks, trying to chase away the sensation of the shock and the memory of the dream. “I… I was thinking about control, but I guess I was mostly just thinking about getting the demon.”

“And as a result, you failed to actually get the demon.”

Jasper stiffens. “Okay, yeah, but I was going to attack again, until you distracted me.”

“Yes, because I knew taking the same unthinking approach wouldn’t yielded better results a second time.” Doran’s voice is measured but his eyes are sharp. “Acting on instinct will get you killed in Deimos. You need to learn to take a breath and evaluate the situation before acting.”

“I know that! I just –” Excuses spring to Jasper’s mind, but, with effort, he swallows them down and takes a breath, not breaking eye contact with Doran. “Okay. What do you think I should do instead of first form?”

He wants Doran to soften, to lean in exchange for Jasper backing down, but he doesn’t. “Determining that is a skill you’ll need to develop. Each form has its own advantages, as you know, so you’ll have to consider the qualities of the demon.” His eyes cut over to the tree the demon was in. “Although we may be speaking purely hypothetically now.”

Jasper follows his gaze. The demon is gone. He steps forward, circling to see the back of the tree it was in, but there’s no sign of it.

He huffs out a breath. “I guess your lecture ran it off.”

“Unfortunate for it. It might have learned something.”

Jasper glances at Doran. Doran’s tone is light, but his eyes are sharp and unreadable. Jasper can’t tell if Doran is frustrated with him or not. If Doran expects him to keep screwing up, or if Doran thinks he can be more.

Even with annoyance and embarrassment burning hot under his skin and unspent magic tingling distractingly in his veins, Jasper still feels drawn to Doran, like metal to a magnet. He wants Doran to respect him – no, to be impressed by him. But he can’t read Doran well enough to predict that if will ever happen.

He can’t help believing Doran must feel the same pull to him, the way two magnets affect each other equally. He can’t help remembering the intimacy of his dream about the rings, and the emotion conjured up in his fantasies, and the desire he thought he saw on Doran’s face last night on the beach. It all feels so real.

But then again, it might also be all be in Jasper’s head, and Doran might think he’s a hopeless idiot. Jasper can’t tell.

Finally Jasper looks back at the trees where the demon disappeared. “Maybe I’ll start with the second form next time. See if I can disable it.”

“Not a bad approach,” Doran tells him. “If you have the precision to wield the second form accurately, of course.”

Jasper follows Doran as they start walking again, alert for any signs of demons. “Of course.”


	12. Impassive

“So what was that?”

“Hm?” Doran looks over at Jasper. They’re heading west now, passing under the shadow of a rocky hill crowned with black trees.

“That shock you gave me when I was fighting the demon.” Jasper had been distracted by magic, and the spark when Doran touched his arm had been brief, but he can remember the powerful sting of it perfectly. “You said you’d explain later.”

“Ah. Have you heard of spirit transference?”

“That was spirit transference?” The technique had been discussed in Jasper’s spirit theory class, but he hadn’t imagined he’d try it this soon. “Wait, so you were giving me power?”

“No, I was the one who gained power from the exchange.” Doran frowns, pensive. “It seems the transference was spontaneous, which is atypical.”

“Really? Good or bad atypical?”

“Well. I suspect it was your lack of control over your spirit that allowed me to draw power from you, so bad in that sense. You should practice gating techniques in order to prevent it happening without intention again.” Doran pauses, then continues cautiously, “But in a case where you did wish to transfer power, the ease with which you were able to do so is… intriguing.”

In the moonlight, Jasper can just catch something bright and intent in Doran’s eyes, almost hungry. His heart leaps. He’s thrilled at the thought of a special talent, one that’s made such an impression on Doran.

On impulse he reaches out and grabs Doran’s arm. At first, nothing happens, then Jasper lets some of his spirit flow down his arm towards Doran, and he feels it immediately. The connection is a familiar spark, a sudden sharp restoration of balance like static electricity. Jasper holds on through the shock, and then realizes he can feel the transference, like power is flowing from him – not the exhilarating rush of casting magic but still somehow exciting –

Abruptly Doran seizes Jasper’s wrist and pulls it away. The connection breaks.

Doran’s voice is sharp. “Spirit transference is an advanced technique. It’s not something to toy with.” 

“I just wanted to try.” Jasper’s palm stings a little, but the feeling of transference wasn’t unpleasant at all. He feels powerful, almost giddy, and he can’t help grinning. “You were right – that was easy.”

Doran pauses, his grip still tight around Jasper’s wrist. He pins Jasper with the full force of his gaze. “Jasper. It’s become clear to me that you have a significant amount of power. I’ve worked with many apprentice mages and in terms of raw spirit power, you outstrip them completely.”

The words send a slow thrill through Jasper. The feeling resonates against the excitement of the spirit transference, building a swell of heat in Jasper’s chest, so for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

Doran continues evenly, “That’s the exact reason that it’s imperative that you learn to control your abilities. You need to turn your full attention to achieving control before you try any experiments.”

Doran’s gaze feels like a challenge, and Jasper feels his pulse thrum with the desire to meet his challenge. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

He steps forward as he says it, and they’re very close now. Jasper’s still buzzing with the effect of Doran’s words. He wants to hear more, wants to know that he’s special and better than any of Doran’s other apprentices. He wants –

He wants Doran, as much he wants to be a powerful mage, and suddenly those both seem more possible than ever before.

Suddenly he’s aware of Doran’s thumb pressed against the pulse point of his wrist. The cool tingle of the demon rings on Doran’s fingers and the warmth of his skin. Without meaning to he lets his gaze slip from Doran’s gold-green eyes down to his mouth.

“Jasper,” says Doran sharply. “My point is that it’s important that you avoid distractions.”

Heat rises to Jasper’s cheeks. Of course his feelings are transparent. Still, he doesn’t let himself look away. They’re still standing close and Jasper can see something in Doran’s eyes, something bright and bitter, a perfect reflection of the aching, hopeless want that squeezes Jasper’s heart.

Maybe Jasper is wrong about all of this, but maybe he’s not, and either way, he needs to know.

“What about you?” he asks quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you ever get distracted?”

It’s a simple question, but Jasper lets his full meaning show on his face. Doran could read it anyway.

For a moment Doran is perfectly still, so that when he finally answers, it’s with the impression of something breaking. His voice is as low and intent as a confession. “Yes.”

Jasper drags in a breath. His heart is drumming a call to arms against his ribs. He’s always been good at taking action, and if there was ever a moment for action, it’s now, alone with Doran in the moonlight, their eyes locked.

He surges forward, twisting his hands in Doran’s robes and leaning up to kiss him.

He gets close enough to feel Doran’s sharp inhale –

And then Doran steps back, avoiding the kiss, seizing both of Jasper’s wrists and pulling his hands away.

For a moment they stay frozen like that, staring at each other. Jasper’s breathing hard, like he’s doing something dangerous. He can just see a slight flush on Doran’s cheeks.

Finally Doran speaks, quiet but firm. “As I was trying to say, just because a distraction exists doesn’t mean we have to give into it.”

Heat churns in Jasper’s gut, the kiss burning in him like magic summoned but not cast. “But we _could_.”

“We could do any number of things,” says Doran slowly, and in the pause afterward all of Jasper’s fantasies come flooding back, and he wants Doran’s arms around him, Doran’s mouth on his, Doran’s body against his, and he takes a shuddering breath. But Doran is impassive as he continues, “But we have a goal here, which is your arcane education. Any distractions would only impede us.”

Abruptly he drops Jasper’s wrists and steps back. “Do you understand, Jasper?”

Immediately Jasper misses Doran’s touch. He misses, too, the heartbeat between Doran’s answer and Doran pulling away from the kiss, when he believed for a moment this was going to happen.

“No,” he answers petulantly.

“We have a job to do here, so I hope I can count on you to stay professional. If you want to become a great mage, you need to apply yourself to your training.”

Jasper wishes there was something wistful in Doran’s tone, or frustration written on his face, but Doran’s voice is calm and serious and his expression is neutral.

But Jasper will always know that this happened. That Doran is as distracted by the possibility between them as he is.

Jasper steps back, reaching up to run a hand roughly over his hair, a shrugging motion. He forces a grin. “Got it. Nothing but focus from now on.”

Doran gazes at him for a moment longer before he nods, slowly. “That would be for the best.”


	13. Ruthless

Tris had planned to face his second night in Deimos without thinking about the greater demon, but it’s hopeless. He could just as easily ignore the moon overhead. The shadow of the demon seems to lurk behind every tree, a tantalizing threat and a deadly promise. Every distant rustle makes Tris’s stomach do a nervous flip, his veins running hot and then cold, half fear and half excitement.

If the demon does appear, he’ll just have to fight him, Tris tells himself. He’s a demon hunter, after all. The demon is fast and strong – Tris shudders, remembering the deadly grace of the demon’s movements, the tight grip of his cool hands – but Tris knows he has enough spirit power to defeat him.

Yes, Tris is eager to fight the greater demon – that’s why his heart lurches into his throat whenever he remembers the demon’s sharp little smile. That’s why he feels a surge of hot anticipation every time he catches a slender shadow from the corner of his eye. It must be.

The route Tris has been assigned takes him down along the Rededge, a fast-moving river that cuts southeast across Tallowell territory. This area of the riverbank once held a demon settlement, long before mages claimed this land, and the ruins of stone buildings lurk dark and forgotten along the river. It’s lonely here, with none of the grim victory of a demon war battleground, only a reminder that time and the elements are as ruthless in this realm as Tris’s.

Tris would rather skirt around the ruins, but the hills close in on either side of the river until there’s no other path but down the ancient streets, overgrown now with rough black grasses. The crumbling stone walls that remain of the buildings are high enough to block Tris’s vision, and he keeps imagining he’ll turn a corner and stumble right into the demon. His heart drums a nervous beat in his chest and his fists are clenched at his side, ready to be raised to cast magic at any hint of the demon.

But he doesn’t run into the greater demon, or anything else. The only sound in the ruined village is his cautious footsteps. When he passes the last building and emerges onto a narrow bank of land beside the river, he stops for a moment to gaze out at the water, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

The river is a dark rush that captures the purple of the sky and deepens it to the color of blood. Compared to the silent, grasping trees and the death-still stone of the ruins, there’s something vibrant about the tumbling water. The Rededge doesn’t lurk in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike – it speaks of danger in its tumbling, urgent murmur and signals danger with the white-topped churn of its waters. There’s something appealing about that.

“Beautiful.”

Tris recognizes the voice immediately. He spins, his heart leaping against his ribs. The demon is only feet away, bare and elegant in the moonlight, his sharp teeth exposed in a grin.

An echo of want pulses hot through Tris’s body, the memory of the demon’s touch brushing his skin like a ghost. But in the same moment, he’s struck by the vicious silhouette of the demon’s two long horns and the inhuman depth of his ink-black eyes, and fear shudders ice-cold through his veins.

“Stay back!” Tris has imagined this moment enough to know what he should do next: he shifts into the third attack form, pressing his shaking hands together and trying to gather his spirit into a manageable knot of power.

The demon, heedless of both words and stance, takes a prowling step closer. With a gasp, Tris attacks, pushing his hands forward and sending a bolt of magic sizzling towards the demon. But the demon ducks calmly aside, his long black hair swinging behind him, and in another long stride he’s on Tris, seizing his arms and pushing him backwards.

Tris stumbles back and lands against the cold stone of the nearby ruin. His heart is pounding, his spirit sparking potent through his veins, but already part of him is eager to yield. The demon is close enough for Tris to notice his long, dark eyelashes and the delicate arch of his lips. A shock of heat darts through Tris’s body, then another, like lightning before an inevitable storm. All Tris wants is to break, to press close, to taste all the sweetness of surrender.

But he’s not quite ready to give up. The desire to fight still burns bright in his chest, pushing him to struggle against the demon’s grip.

“I thought you’d be glad to see me again, mageling,” murmurs the demon, leaning close. He brings Tris’s wrists together and shifts to grip them both with one hand.

Tris seizes that moment to twist free from the demon’s hold. He pushes away from the ruined wall and stumbles a few steps away from the demon, then spins and plants his feet, summoning up his spirit again. If he can manage a faster bolt of magic, the demon won’t be able to avoid it –

But the demon is faster still. He surges forward and lunges at Tris, as swift and deadly as a lion, bringing them both down to the ground. Tris lands hard on his back, and the demon is on top of him, grabbing for his wrists.

Tris manages to struggle for a moment, squirming under the weight of the demon’s body, but the demon is strong and lightning-fast. Tris can tell it’s hopeless even before the demon pins his hands to the ground and leans over him, straddling his hips, still smiling.

Tris closes his eyes, his stomach giving a guilty swoop at the familiar feeling of relief. The tension of fighting drains from him and into the empty space left behind surges desire, dark and boundless, like a sudden storm.

He takes a shaking breath and opens his eyes.

In contrast to Tris, who’s flustered and breathing hard, the demon looks barely affected by the struggle. Maybe a few pieces of his long hair have escaped the elaborate jeweled bindings to fall over his shoulders. Maybe there’s an echo of motion in the slight swing of the delicate chain he wears strung between his horns. But other than that, the demon is unmoving, as still and elegant as a statue.

Tris can’t help staring. His eyes follow the long, lean arch of the demon’s torso. They slip down over the white wrap the demon wears around his hips and trace his bare thighs, pressed to Tris’s sides, all golden-brown skin in the moonlight.

“Ah, _enkileth_ ,” breathes the demon, and heat surges to Tris’s face at being caught staring. The demon just grins down at him, a predator making no attempt to hide his fangs. “I knew you’d missed me.”


	14. Voluntarily

The demon’s smile is sharp and teasing, and Tris stares up at him, unable to respond.

He’d like to deny that he wanted to see the demon again. Or to claim that, when he did think of the demon, it was only to plan his defeat.

But he can feel the truth in every drumbeat pound of his heart – that he’s thought of the demon every moment since last night, and that the fantasy of fighting him was only a brief distraction from what he really imagined: a moment just like this, with the demon on top of him, his lean body pressed to Tris’s, his grin promising what’s to come.

The demon doesn’t wait for a response. He leans down, a slow serpentine movement, until his torso is flush against Tris’s and his forearms align with Tris’s, on the ground over their heads. He’s so close now that his mouth only a breath from Tris’s, and Tris gasps, his lips parting. But the demon pauses there, not quite kissing Tris. He’s still wearing a small smile.

Need shudders through Tris, urging him to push up and press his mouth to the demon’s. But something keeps him still. There’s still a spark of resistance in his chest, a part of him that knows that it’s wrong to succumb to this. Knows that voluntarily crossing that space between their mouths, as tiny as it is, would be to yield himself completely.

“Don’t be scared, mageling.” The demon’s so close that Tris can almost feel the shape of the words.

Heat pricks Tris’s cheeks. “I – I’m not,” he tries, even though he’s breathless with it, fear and conflict and desire in a tangled knot in his belly.

“Good.” The demon shifts against Tris. Tris’s breath catches, eager for the demon to lean down and kiss him, to take from him what Tris can’t quite bring himself to offer up.

But the demon just moves to hold Tris’s wrists with one hand, so he can bring the other down to curl into Tris’s hair, and then he pulls Tris’s head roughly to the side.

Panic spikes through Tris’s veins. In the rush of desire and guilt, he’d forgotten the threat of the demon draining his blood. But now his neck is exposed to the demon’s dark gaze, and from the corner of his eye he can see the sharp points of the demon’s teeth, and he suddenly can’t breathe. His spirit twists in his chest and surges out through his limbs, but it’s blocked by the demon’s grip on his wrists. 

The demon ducks his head to Tris’s neck. Tris flinches, but there’s no sting of teeth – just the demon’s lips, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Tris’s throat, and then the demon’s tongue, tracing a slow, cool line up the side of Tris’s neck.

Tris shivers helplessly. There’s still an electric edge of fear to every pound of his heart, but that’s easily drowned out by the swell of need that starts to build in him at the demon’s touch, like a wave cresting in the ocean, huge and inevitable. The wet friction of the demon’s tongue on his skin feels intimate in a way that he has no defenses against.

Tris isn’t sure he should think of any of this as intimate – he knows he’s nothing but a meal for the demon, nameless and replaceable. But the demon acts as if he already has personal knowledge of Tris, like he knows every bit of Tris’s body and he can just assume that Tris will yield to his touch. And the thing is that he’s right – Tris did yield, Tris is enjoying this. The demon could see what Tris wanted better than he could.

Tris isn’t used to being seen like that. It’s foreign and thrilling to have his dark inner desires read so easily. Intimate.

“See?” The demon breathes the words against Tris’s neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tris shivers at the brush of the demon’s lips on his skin. “Yeah,” he manages, “but you want to – to –”

The demon presses a kiss to the underside of Tris’s jaw, almost gentle, except for the way his lips linger greedily against Tris’s skin. “I just want to taste you, sweet one.”

There’s a possessive edge to the demon’s voice that makes Tris’s stomach give an eager swoop, and he closes his eyes. The demon moves down Tris’s neck, pressing kisses to his still-wet skin, and Tris can’t help breathing out a little moan.

The spark of resistance inside him gutters and flickers. He wants to lose himself in this, to let the physical sensation course through him, strong enough to obliterate everything else, like a book left under the insistent pound of rain until it bleeds its words away.

The demon hums a pleased sound, and, tilting his head, kisses Tris even harder. He’s sucking on Tris’s neck now, his mouth cool and wet and insistent. Tris gasps. Tingles spill through his body, a rush of pleasure blooming from the spot under the demon’s mouth.

The sensation makes him squirm, shifting under the demon. But the demon stays still, focused entirely on his task, his mouth tight on Tris’s skin. Tris swallows back a whimper. It’s starting to hurt now, the tight seal of the demon’s lips, his tongue against Tris’s oversensitive skin. There must be a mark there now, a dark bruise on the side of Tris’s neck.

Alarm sparks through Tris at the thought. He still has to report in at the end of the night and see other mages gathered in the tower. He can’t wear the shape of the demon’s kiss on his neck, bold and obvious, where anyone can see it.

His heart lurches and he tries to pull away, tugging painfully against the demon’s grip in his hair. “Stop,” he gasps, but his voice sounds quiet and breathless, barely audible under the rushing murmur of the river beside them.

The demon’s mouth lingers a moment before he sits up. He’s breathing hard, his bare chest rising and falling, and his eyes are dark and fierce. “Bored, mageling?”

Tris can still feel the pound of his pulse in the spot on his neck. He wishes he knew what it looks like. Wishes he could touch it, press his thumb to it and judge the ache. But there’s nothing to do but ask the demon: “Is… is there a mark on my neck?”

The demon lets out a low chuckle. “Oh yes.” He lets go of Tris’s hair and brushes his fingers against Tris’s neck. “Worried what your little mage friends will think?”

Tris squeezes his eyes shut tight. Fear and shame surge up in him at the thought.

It was nice, for a moment, to believe that his desire could wash away the rest of the world, until there was nothing left but him and the demon. But that’s impossible. The rest of the world continues to exist, and the only thing he can destroy by giving into this is himself.

He can still feel the demon’s gaze. “Ah, don’t you want them to know you’re mine?”

The teasing tone kindles a spark of anger in Tris’s belly. He doesn’t belong to the demon. He’s a demon hunter! He’s supposed to be fighting the demon, not succumbing to his touch. Jasper would never let this happen, thinks Tris, and the shame of the thought feeds the resolve that flares hot in his chest.

“I’m not,” he manages, gritting his teeth and yanking at his hands.

But the demon easily holds him still. His eyes slide down, tracing Tris’s flushed cheeks, the bruise on his neck, his shuddering chest, and he grins. “Oh, really?”

Tris’s pulse is echoing in his ears. He fights back the desire still pumping through him and tries to focus. He can’t fight the demon with magic, but there is one other option. It’s forbidden by the rules he learned at school, but he’s desperate.

He relaxes his arms over his head, and, carefully, he lets his thumb brush against the two iron rings on his fingers.


	15. Ghost

Uncertainty shudders through Tris, but he can’t let go of the resolve that sweeps through him, urging him to fight back against the demon. He has to do this.

He presses his thumb to the ring on his left forefinger, a narrow iron band set with a small adamant gem, and he whispers the words: “As your loyalty holds, now serve my command.”

That’s all it takes. He feels a spark jump from the ring to his thumb, and shiver down through him like a bolt of electricity, seeking the spirit power gathered in his chest. The ring lifts off his finger, no longer quite corporeal, and he can sense Avi’s appearance even if he can’t see it – darkness coalescing around the ring, forming the shape of a hawk, with a sharp predator’s head and broad, powerful wings.

Avi beats her wings, lifting into the sky, and Tris can feel the tether of power between his spirit and the demon ring shudder like a plucked cord. His breath catches. He’s not used to the feeling of summoning demons yet.

The greater demon on top of him hisses and draws back. “What are you doing, mage?”

Tris is too distracted by Avi to respond. Through the link that binds her to him, he can feel what she feels: the cool air under her wings, the joy of flight after so long incorporeal. He watches as she climbs into the purple sky overhead. She’s white-feathered, like the ghost of a bird, except for the edge of brown at the tips of her wings, and she has a viciously hooked beak and three pure black eyes. The demon ring is a collar around her throat, holding her adamant locked within it.

Tris has summoned Avi before, but only in Aethon, and only as training. He’s never summoned a bound demon in Deimos before. It’s a peculiar feeling. In this realm, instead of Avi providing him with extra power, she has to draw spirit power from him to be corporeal. He can feel the slow drain through the invisible tether between them.

The greater demon is still kneeling over Tris, but his eyes are tracking Avi’s flight. “Is this a threat?”

“Yes,” says Tris breathlessly, and through the link between them, he orders Avi to attack.

Immediately she folds her broad wings and dives, her claws outstretched toward the greater demon. He ducks quickly out of the way, half rolling away from Tris, pushing to his feet as soon as Avi swoops by.

Avi shrieks at the miss and starts to climb again. Tris, suddenly free from the demon’s weight, stands. Now he and the demon are facing each other, with Avi wheeling overhead.

Despite the distance between them, the demon’s voice remains low and intimate. “You know, sweet one, I could have drunk your blood down to the last drop.” Tris shivers. “But I didn’t. I wanted to make you feel good instead. Don’t you want that?”

For a moment, Tris is caught in the demon’s endless black gaze, and part of him wants to yield to the demon’s murmured words. The memory of last night, the delirious thrill of pleasure and danger, swells in him like a tide.

But the anger and determination in Tris’s chest are too strong now to be extinguished. His voice is quiet but fierce. “I won’t let you use me.”

Something sharpens the demon’s dark gaze and draws his lips from his cruel teeth. “Try to stop me, mageling.”

He takes a step towards Tris, slow and graceful and vicious. Tris can’t help stumbling back, his heart leaping into his throat, and he sends a panicked signal to Avi.

Avi dives, heading directly for the back of the demon’s head. The demon whirls towards her. Avi banks, trying to strike him at an angle, but he throws out an arm, catching Avi with a blow that knocks her to the ground.

It feels like Tris has been kicked in the chest. He falls to his knees, gasping. For a moment both Avi and Tris are stunned, the impact of the greater demon’s strike echoing between them.

This is why student mages are told to never summon demons in Deimos. Besides the drain on spirit power, it’s dangerous for the mage if the demon is hurt. Tris was taught that all war in Deimos should be waged from afar, with spirit shaped into long-distance spells.

But Tris failed at that. Avi is his best hope.

Avi manages to lurch to her feet, feathers rustling, and in a moment she pushes back into the air. Tris remains on the ground, struggling to drag in a full breath.

The demon stands over Tris, a menacing figure in the moonlight, tall and horned. “Put that away, mageling, and maybe we can still come to an arrangement.”

Tris shakes his head, forcing himself to his feet and stumbling back, away from the demon.

The demon follows, leaving a trail of black smoke behind him as he moves. Avi must have hooked him with her claws, Tris realizes – there are two deep gouges in his forearm, spilling black smoke into the night air.

The demon is ignoring the wounds, but the sight of them gives Tris a strange feeling. He should feel triumphant that Avi hurt the demon, but something twists in his gut, uncertain. Is he really going to try to kill the demon?

Of course, he thinks, if he and Avi can weaken the demon, he could bind him instead of killing him. He imagines closing a ring tight around the demon’s slender neck, speaking the words of binding. He could wear all the power and threat of the demon on his finger, right beside Avi’s ring.

The thought sends a thrill of excitement through him, and, from the part of him that’s still stuck on the feeling of the demon’s mouth against his neck, a little pulse of desire.

He can’t help picturing it: the demon summoned to Tris’s safe, sunlit dorm room, the wild darkness of his eyes tamed to something soft as velvet. The demon pressing Tris to the bed, kissing him, exactly as hard as Tris tells him to.

Heat rushes through Tris, and he swallows hard. Either way, he has no choice but to fight the demon now.

Avi swoops overhead, her three eyes fixed on the demon, and Tris steps into the third attack form. He already feels drained, and it’s hard to gather his spirit for an attack around the insistent tug of the tether to Avi, but he’ll try.

The demon takes another prowling step closer, his eyes fixed on Tris. “Do I need to teach you a lesson, mageling?”

Tris tries to ignore him, just like he tries to ignore the distracting sensation of Avi preparing to dive, and focuses instead on the power building in his palms.

He can do this.


	16. Coordination

Tris focuses on the power building in his palms. Each heartbeat sends a flood of determination through his veins, and he can feel equal determination reflected back down his magical connection to Avi. For a moment, mage and bound demon are unified by their shared purpose.

Tris pushes his hands outward, letting his spirit burst forth as a bolt of brilliant light. Overhead, Avi presses her wings tight to her body and dives, her sharp beak cutting through the night air. They move at the same time, in wordless coordination, the way a flock of starlings turns and dips through the sky in unison.

Tris’s heart leaps in his chest. This must be what it feels like to be a master demon hunter. Tris was made to have magic pulsing through his veins, and Avi was made to feel air rushing over her feathers, and mage and bound demon were made to work together.

The greater demon is between them. At the flash of Tris’s magic, he twists aside, his injured arm leaving a streak of black smoke in the air. He avoids the magic, but now he’s right in Avi’s path. Tris can feel her intense focus, the practiced flex of her wings as she spreads them, reaching her clawed feet towards the demon.

Tris is already gathering power for another attack, forcing the little spirit he has left up into his palms. When the demon dodges away from Avi, Tris can catch him with another bolt of magic.

But instead to trying to avoid Avi, the greater demon lunges suddenly towards her. With lightning speed, he reaches up and seizes her, his fingers digging viciously into her feathered throat. He wrenches her from her flight and slams her onto the ground.

Pain pulses through Tris and he collapses, the breath knocked out of him. The demon’s movement was so sudden and so forceful that it takes Tris a confused, painful moment to even realize what happened. To realize exactly how easily his plan was destroyed.

Avi lies where the demon threw her, a feathered huddle, her wings splayed crookedly and black smoke leaking from her body. She’s breathing shallowly and the predator’s edge is gone from her three eyes, leaving only dull blackness.

Tris shudders. He pushes to his knees and reaches for Avi. When he touches the iron collar around her neck, her form starts to dissolve, her white feathers melting into black smoke and the adamant gem glowing bright red. The ring shrinks back to its original size, and Tris gingerly slips it back onto his finger.

He’s aware of the demon standing in front of him, watching him, but he doesn’t dare look up. 

Finally the demon reaches down and grabs Tris’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “Well, mage, have you learned your lesson?”

Tris stares at the demon. There’s something regal about him, serene in the moonlight, glimmering with gold and jewels like some ancient king before a kneeling supplicant. There’s no obvious sign of the power and violence that destroyed Tris and Avi’s hopes so easily. But Tris can still feel that violence hidden away within the demon’s elegant limbs, lurking behind his cool, considering gaze.

Tris’s heart skitters in his chest. He’s truly, completely out of hope now. His whole body aches and his spirit is drained. The greater demon is just too fast and strong to be threatened by anything Tris can manage.

The demon can do what he wants now. He could bite bruises into Tris’s skin until more of Tris belongs to him than to Tris, and there’s nothing Tris can do about it.

The thought sends a desperate, guilty rush of heat through Tris’s body. 

The demon, watching him, and tilts his hand and brushes his thumb softly over Tris’s mouth. Tris shivers. He can’t help his lips parting, his breath coming quicker.

For a moment, the demon teases Tris’s lower lip, his touch gentle but heavy with the weight of everything the demon can do to Tris, now that Tris is defeated. The simple friction of it is magnified until Tris can feel the vibration of it through his whole body.

“What should I do with you now, I wonder?”

The demon’s eyes track slowly over Tris, past his flushed face, over the shudder of his chest, then lower still, down to where Tris’s body is already eager to know what the demon will do to him.

The demon’s gaze lingers there between Tris’s legs like a physical touch. Tris shudders, the mortification of being seen like this mingling hotly with the need that pulses through him under the demons’ gaze.

“I could be nice to you, my little mageling.” The demon’s eyes slip back up to Tris’s face, and he drags his thumb down Tris’s chin, slow and wet, suggestive. Tris shivers, helpless. He thinks of last night and he can’t help wanting that again.

But then, as quickly as he seized Avi from the air, the demon’s hand jumps up to Tris’s hair. Tris flinches, his breath catching as the demon curls his hand in Tris’s hair and jerks his head back, arching his throat.

The demon’s voice is cold. “But then again, you haven’t been very nice to me.”

The point is emphasized by the gouges in the demon’s forearm, which spill thin lines of black smoke into the air between the two of them. Tris remembers the resolve he had felt, back when he still thought he stood a chance.

His voice comes out hoarse. “W-why should I be?”

“Because, ungrateful boy, I’m trying to give you want you want.”

“I... I don’t want –” tries Tris, a final desperate denial, but he can’t even manage the words.

“This is why I could never stand mages. So many rules to follow to keep people from what they want.” The demon’s voice suddenly sharpens. “Here in my world, we take what we want.”

His hand tightens in Tris’s hair as he says it, and Tris gasps, his eyes falling shut.

He does want this. He wants it so much he can feel it throughout his whole body, like desire is taking the place left by hope and filling up the emptiness where his spirit should be. He wants it so much it hurts.

Recognizing the force of his desire only makes it stronger. He feels like he’s burning up, feverish with need. The demon holds Tris’s head tilted back and brings his other hand to Tris’s cheek, and Tris gasps, trying to lean into the demon’s cool touch.

For a moment the demon holds him like that, as if Tris is entirely his to play with. He traces the line of Tris’s jaw, and then finally his fingers find Tris’s lips and Tris can’t help breathing out a small sound, low and eager.

“Will you admit it, _enkileth_? You want me to touch you.”

“Yes,” gasps Tris, desperate, leaning up into the demon’s hands.

There’s a moment when Tris is sure the demon will pull him close and press his cool, hungry mouth to Tris’s parted lips. Desire thrums through him. His hips push forward helplessly, his knees spreading a little in the grass.

But then the demon lets go of him and steps back.

Tris opens his eyes. The demon is gazing down at him coolly. “Why would I, when you’ve wasted all your tasty power?”

Tris’s heart lurches. “I… please...”

“Maybe you’ll be wiser next time we meet, mage.”

And the demon turns and slips back into the ruins beside the river. Tris watches him go, his heart pounding, breathing hard, still ready for something to happen.

But nothing does. Tris is suddenly alone again, with the river rushing uncaringly beside him and the purple sky arcing huge and featureless above him.

Slowly he raises his hand to his neck. The bruise left by the demon’s mouth aches when he presses it, like badge accusing him of a sin he never actually got to commit.


	17. Kinship

When he reaches Rededge Tower, Tris avoids other mages and instead slips into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stares into the mirror above the washstand. In the beam of moonlight from the narrow window, he looks pale, but the mark left by the demon’s mouth stands out dark and obvious on the side of his neck.

Tris’s fingers drift up to the mark. When he presses it, he has to bite his lip at the subtle sting of pain. His skin whitens under the pressure, but when he drops his hand, and the bruise blooms red again, inescapable.

Tris takes a shaking breath. His spirit is drained and his body aches from the fight, but part of him is still breathless, waiting, buzzing with an energy that never got its release. He thinks about all the moments when he could have yielded to the demon instead of trying to fight, and he can’t help wishing that he had – that he had given his body up to the demon’s touch and let the demon make him come.

Part of Tris flinches away from thinking about it so bluntly, but most of him can’t resist imagining what could have happened. He should have lain still, he thinks, and let the demon wrap his cool hand around his cock. He should have let the demon stroke him, with all the hungry focus he showed last night, until Tris was helpless not to come, not to spill his power in messy physical form for the demon to take.

Tris’s breath catches at that thought – the demon swallowing his come, like he did last night. The image is strange and forbidden enough to make Tris’s stomach do a little flip, and he swallows hard, fighting the twist of arousal that surges up through him.

He’s studied demons’ bloodthirst and savagery, but there’s something incomparably filthy about this way of stealing power. Tris has never heard or read of a demon doing something like it. Of course, that doesn’t mean it’s never happened, only that nobody has ever talked about it.

Part of Tris hopes that it hasn’t ever happened. That would mean that there’s something special between him and the demon – some strange violent kinship that makes them perfectly suited to fill each other’s needs, if only Tris would stop fighting and let it happen.

Tris’s heart gives a desperate lurch at the thought. His head is full of thoughts of the demon’s cool touch, the demon’s hungry gaze, the demon’s wicked tongue tracing his elegant fingers. Each image sends a jolt of arousal through Tris, a pulse of heat that gathers between his legs.

Tris shudders and presses a hand to his cock, feeling the swell of it under his palm. He drags in a slow breath. He should get ahold of himself. He needs to go back out and get into bed, as soon as possible, before the tower dormitory is so crowded that someone will notice the bruise on his neck.

But he feels weak in the face of the desire sweeping through him. It’s easy to let himself sink to his knees, to lean into the wall so he can rest his heated face against the cool stone. When he shifts his knees on the ground, his pants pull tight over his cock, and the pressure makes his breath catch in his throat.

He should stop this. He knows his desire for the demon is wrong, but at least he had no choice in what happened last night. Right now, there’s no such excuse. If he lets himself be overcome by desire, he’ll only have his own weakness to blame.

But he’s so tired of fighting.

Breathing out in a desperate rush, he pulls open his belt and slips his hand into his pants.

He swallows a gasp as he wraps his fist around his cock. The need that’s been vibrating through him all night sharpens, lighting up his whole body with the possibility of release.

He remembers last night, the demon’s tight grip on him, jerking him in a fast, focused rhythm. He closes his eyes and starts to stroke himself in the same rhythm, his hand sliding up and down the length of his cock.

Each stroke sends a wave of pleasure trembling through him, so good he has to bite his tongue to keep from making any noise. Now that he’s doing this, he can’t hesitate anymore. He sits up on his knees, his fist working shamelessly up and down his cock, his hips rocking into each stroke. 

His right hand drifts up to his neck, and he thumbs at the bruise until he gasps, his teeth catching his lower lip. He remembers the demon’s mouth on his neck, insistent but almost gentle despite the proximity of his vicious teeth. He remembers, too, the demon’s body grinding down against his, the lean length of the demon’s torso, his bare thighs.

Tris’s hips stutter, pushing his cock through his fist. Precome smears over his fingers. He shivers, remembering the demon eager for a taste of him. If the demon were here now, he’d drag Tris’s hand to his mouth and suck Tris’s fingers, his mouth cool and wet, his tongue tracing the tips of Tris’s fingers. Tris whimpers at the thought, his hips jerking.

It’s wrong to do this here, to fantasize about a demon’s touch in the middle of a mage’s stronghold, but that only heightens the tension building in him. This isn’t going to take long. This is nothing like how he used to touch himself, braced against the wall in a dorm room shower, rushed and sheepish – this is something else, something filthy and forbidden, something that makes his breath come short and his whole body tremble to the desperate rhythm of his fist.

He spreads his knees and rocks forward, bracing one hand in front of him, his whole body pushing into each stroke. The small room echoes back the rough sound of his breathing and heightens the soft rhythmic sound of his fist moving on his cock, but Tris can barely hear anything over the pound of his pulse in his ears. He can barely focus on anything but the need burning in him, building and building with each tight, fierce jerk of his hand.

He’s so close now. He keeps thinking about the demon’s eager gaze on him, dark and full of hunger. In this moment, Tris and the demon would both want the exact same thing: for Tris to drag his hand down his cock and take a desperate shuddering breath and hold it, because it’s finally too much. He’s coming, pleasure rushing through him like a river smashing through a dam, his body trembling as his spills messily onto the bathroom floor.

When he can finally breathe again, his breath sounds almost like a sob.

He had hoped this would make him feel better, but he mostly just feels empty. He’s shaking as he cleans up and then creeps out to curl under up under his blanket.

Maybe he’ll see the demon tomorrow night, he tells himself, and it’s his last thought before he sinks into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.


	18. Rearrange

Jasper wakes up on his third night in Deimos brimming with power and not at all regretting his attempt to kiss Doran.

Doran, of course, acts like nothing has changed since their near-kiss. Jasper can see a difference in him, though: something has sharpened in his eyes, something that quickens in Jasper’s chest like a challenge every time their eyes catch.

Jasper wants to take the heat in Doran’s gaze as a challenge to fight for what he wants. Doran said they can’t be together, but it’s easy to imagine the brightness in his eyes is passion, that he’s daring Jasper to step up and prove that they should be.

On the other hand, the look in Doran’s eyes might also be a reprimand, warning Jasper not to try to act on his desire. That option is less appealing, but, still, there’s a kind of thrill in the tension of it. As he and Doran bid farewell to other mages in Willets Tower and strike out into the moonlit darkness of Deimos, Jasper likes the feeling that they’re co-conspirators, both of them aware of their mutual desire but keeping it hidden for now.

Jasper glances up at the sky, blank and cloudless, the deep purple of it familiar now, and takes a deep breath. Even if he wishes last night had gone different, he has a good feeling about tonight. His spirit is so strong he can feel it resonate with every heartbeat, heat and pressure filling his chest, and he likes how powerful it makes him feel, full of barely-contained potential. As they leave Willets Tower, a valley stretches before them, and Jasper is sure that the forested depths are thick with demons waiting to meet his magic.

He’s ready to plunge ahead, but he’s delayed by Doran, who insists they pause first and carefully review all of Jasper’s spell forms.

Jasper’s confident in his spell forms – he aced his spirit application class – and anyway, he’s determined to show Doran he’s focused on mastering demon-hunting. So he swallows his impatience and nods. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“Let’s see your first attack form.”

“Okay.” Jasper balances his stance, straightens his spine, and raises his arms as if to fire a magical attack in front of him. His hands go automatically to the right shapes – his right hand outstretched and gently curved, open to the flow of magic, with two fingers of his left hand pressed to his right palm, stabilizing.

As soon as he raises his arms, he feels his spirit rush along them in instinctive excitement. His breath catches – he definitely shouldn’t be casting actual magic right now. Focusing on the surge of power, he forces it back into the main core of his spirit.

When he has his spirit under control, he lets out a breath and glances at Doran. Doran’s looking Jasper over, taking in his handshape and then his entire stance. Jasper holds still, feeling his cheeks warm under Doran’s scrutiny.

“Good,” says Doran finally. “You certainly have the power to make effective use of the first form. Just make sure not to tense your fingers and make it harder to manipulate than it is.”

“Got it.”

“Second form, then.”

Carefully Jasper shifts into the second form – a sideways stance, with his right hand extended and his left arm back, reaching for the ground, balancing him. Power leaps down his right arm like lightning and he has to grit his teeth and drag his spirit back. 

The heat of Doran’s gaze prickles across Jasper’s skin. After a moment, Doran tells him, “The second form demands much more precision. If you don’t get the handshapes exactly right, your magic will end up following a completely unpredictable path.”

Jasper glances at Doran. “This isn’t right?”

“Your thumb should never touch your third finger like that.” Doran draws closer and takes Jasper’s right hand in his. His fingers are firm as they rearrange Jasper’s thumb so it’s parallel to his extended first two fingers.

At Doran’s touch, Jasper’s spirit surges up again, jumping eagerly down his arm towards the point of contact. Jasper remembers the jolt of connection between them last night, the strange feeling of his power flowing into Doran. It’s tempting to let it happen again.

But he also remembers what Doran said about spirit transference, so, with some effort, he stops the flow of power before it reaches Doran.

Doran’s touch lingers a moment longer, and Jasper’s heart gives a little skip at the warmth of Doran’s hand. They’re barely touching, but it’s more than enough to send a pulse of desire shivering through Jasper.

Doran’s eyes flick to Jasper’s face for just a moment, and Jasper catches sight of that new sharpness, burning like a challenge. Jasper’s breath catches, but before he has time to react, Doran pulls away.

“Third form, now.”

Jasper takes a breath and steps into the form, his feet planted, his palms together. He can feel Doran’s eyes on him, judging. He feels flustered now, his heart pounding, but he forces himself to stay still.

After a moment, Doran steps closer, moving behind Jasper. His voice is firm. “Relax your elbows. The power needs a clear path to flow through you.”

His hands traces Jasper’s arms from elbow to wrist. It’s quick, more of a demonstration than a caress – his hands don’t linger, and he’s not close enough to press against Jasper’s back.

Still, just for a heartbeat, the touch is desperately intimate, Doran’s strong arms bracketing Jasper’s, his breath in Jasper’s ear.

Power buzzes through Jasper’s veins and desire swells in his chest, a debilitating rush of heat. Suddenly Jasper can’t breathe. He wants to loosen the desperate grip he has on his spirit and let magic flow out of him; he wants to lean back against the solid heat of Doran’s body and let Doran’s arms encircle him, just like he once imagined, sleepless and burning with potential in his Evenfell dorm room.

He can’t keep all of this in. He jerks away from Doran with a gasp, dropping the spell form.

Immediately he spins to face Doran, his heart racing. Doran’s gaze is steady and his mouth is set evenly. For a moment all Jasper can think about is how much he wants to kiss that mouth, wants to tempt it open against his. Wants to draw from it words of desire and praise.

Doran raises his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Jasper takes a shaky breath. Doran can pretend innocence, but that heat in his eyes is still there. This feels like a test, and Jasper desperately wants to succeed, but he doesn’t know the right answer. Frustration blooms from the ache of desire in him like a weed from warm earth.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he accuses Doran.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to distract me,” says Jasper fiercely, stepping closer so that they’re practically toe-to-toe. He lets his eyes drop to Doran’s mouth.

Doran takes a sharp breath and steps away. “Jasper. I was just trying to correct your form. There’s no need to make things difficult.”

“I’m making things difficult? You were the one who was touching me.”

“To fix your form. Nothing more.” Doran’s voice is cool. “If you’re distracted by that, perhaps you’re not focused enough on the task at hand.”

Jasper stares at Doran, his heart hammering in his chest, an angry heat springing to his cheeks. Doran has no right to judge him. He was trying to be good, but it’s hard to control the power pulsing inside him, and he can’t help his reaction to Doran’s touch. This is all Doran’s fault, he tells himself, for putting him in this situation and then acting like everything’s fine.

But in the quiet, tense space between them, he can hear Doran’s breath coming a little quicker than normal, and he notices suddenly a slight flush on the light brown skin of Doran’s cheeks.

For all the sternness of his expression, Doran can’t hide that he’s affected by this too.

Something fierce and warm squeezes Jasper’s heart. He doesn’t want to let Doran down. If Doran wants them to resist being together and just focus on demon-hunting, Jasper can do that.

He looks up into the brilliant challenge of Doran’s eyes. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

“Good,” Doran tells him, still stern, but Jasper can feel some of the tension in him ease.

Relief runs through Jasper, and he can’t help grinning at Doran. “Go ahead and try to distract me – I’ll be undistractable, I promise.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” There's a quirk to the corners of Doran’s mouth. “Let’s keep focusing on your spell forms for now, shall we?”


	19. Incongruous

By the time Doran declares Jasper’s spell forms satisfactory, Jasper’s spirit is pulsing hot and reckless in his chest, like boiling water leaping up the throat of a kettle. He needs to cast some magic, and if he doesn’t want to blow a hole in Willets Tower, he’d better find a demon to fight instead.

To Jasper’s relief, he and Doran find a demon not long after setting off. It’s an amphibious thing, round and wide-mouthed. It gives an angry croak when it sees Jasper, revealing incongruous sharp teeth and an adamant gem nestled into its fat pink tongue. There’s clear menace in its huge eyes, but when it starts crawling towards them, one slimy leg after another, it’s far too slow to be a threat.

The sight of it makes Jasper’s heart leap and his spirit shudder with excitement. He cocks his head at Doran, grinning.

Doran looks back at him neutrally. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking first form. That thing will be impossible to miss.”

“Go ahead, then.”

Jasper turns back to the demon, bringing his arms up to attack.

Immediately power rushes down his arms. Jasper does nothing to stop it, just lets it burst from his hands in a beam of magic, bright enough to light up the forest around them. There’s no chance of missing his mark: the wide bolt of magic strikes the demon and tears into the ground around it. The flow of spirit feels like an electric current in Jasper’s veins, and he thrills at it, breathless, his heart pounding.

He can feel Doran’s eyes on him, though, so eventually he forces himself to cut the power off. When the afterimage of the magic’s light finally clears, he sees there’s nothing left of the demon – just a ball of black mist, already dissipating into the air, and broken shards of adamant.

He turns to Doran, grinning. “How was that?”

“I have no complaints about your technique. Although I might have suggested attempting to bind it.”

Jasper’s heart sinks. Of course he should have tried binding the demon – something so slow-moving would have been the perfect candidate.

He shrugs at Doran, forcing a smile. “Yeah, but that thing was so ugly. I don’t really want a contract with it.”

Doran doesn’t look amused. “What is our purpose here, Jasper?”

Jasper’s heart pounds at the direct challenge of Doran’s gaze. “Well – to defeat rogue demons that threaten mage territories. And to bind demons to bring back to Aethon.”

“Exactly. Even if the demon was that odious to you, you could still have profited from the power of its adamant, or donated it to the demonology department for study.”

“I know,” says Jasper, chastened. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

Doran is silent, his eyes on Jasper. Jasper feels heat building in his cheeks. He had been sure that he and Doran had reached an understanding – but of course nothing could stop Doran from being exacting on the subject of demon-hunting.

After a moment, though, Doran seems to soften. “Nobody expects an apprentice mage to bind a demon on his first trip to Deimos, of course. But it’s something you should practice. I have very high hopes for you, Jasper.”

A warm thrill runs through Jasper, and he looks up. “Got it – I’ll try binding the very next demon we find.”

-

They don’t find the next demon for a long time.

Jasper and Doran trek through Marlyon as the moon slides across the sky. They have a set route to follow, coordinated with other mages to sweep up any demons still skulking around the territory, but this time there’s no tower at the end of it. They’ll be going back to Aethon when the moon sets.

It’s strange to think of returning to Aethon. It’s only been three nights, but already, the details of Jasper’s everyday life at Evenfall University seem distant, like something from a dream – golden sunlight on warm stone, the clatter of silverware in the dining hall, Tris smiling at him across their cozy little room.

A little spike of guilt twists through Jasper’s stomach as he realizes he hasn’t thought about Tris at all over the past few nights. It’s just that, in his head, Tris is part of now-distant normalcy, not part of the strange, thrilling demon realm. And dealing with magic and figuring out what’s going on between him and Doran have been distracting.

Jasper glances over at Doran, who’s fallen silent for the moment. He can’t help the familiar spark of desire that runs through him at the sight of the solid, handsome set of Doran’s features, his square jaw and serious brows. Or maybe the feeling is more like a jolt of determination, eagerness to live up to Doran’s expectations and bind a demon.

That’s part of what makes this all so overwhelming – it’s hard to distinguish the skip beat of his heart that’s his attraction to Doran from the general thrill of being here in Deimos, fighting demons.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to separate the two. Maybe, later, every time he sees the deep purple of the demon realm’s sky, he’ll think about Doran’s gold-green eyes, and the grasping shadows of the trees here will always bring to mind the solid, appealing strength of Doran’s arms. Or the reverse – every interaction with Doran, even back in Aethon, might have this moonlit tension to it, this exciting frisson of danger and potential.

When he gets back, he’ll have to talk to Tris about all of this, demons and Doran alike. Tris did say it was a bad idea for Jasper to pursue Doran, but that doesn’t matter – even if he protests, Tris usually ends up going along with Jasper’s ideas in the end. It’s one of the things Jasper loves about him. Jasper knows he’ll understand.

The moon is hanging huge and heavy near the horizon now, on the verge of setting. Jasper has almost given up on finding another demon before returning to Aethon when his thoughts are interrupted by a rustle in the trees ahead of him.

Jasper snaps immediately to alertness, excitement coursing through his veins. He might have a chance to bind his first demon after all.

Jasper and Doran follow the sound through the trees until they emerge in a small glade, where trees give way to dark grass and a narrow, winding stream. Between them and the stream is a lesser demon the size and shape of a dog, scrawny and covered in matted gray fur, with sharp bony spines emerging from its back.

The demon narrows its eyes and snarls, a sound so low that it vibrates all the way to Jasper’s bones. Suddenly it’s coming at them, taking long strides that eat up the space between them. There’s a wild hunger in its dark eyes and its lips are drawn back to show vicious teeth.

Jasper takes a sharp breath. He still wants to try binding the demon, but he’ll have to survive it first.


	20. Prowl

As the wolf demon rushes towards him, Jasper’s spirit leaps inside him like a crashing wave, eager to surge out of him and blast the demon away. But he holds it back. This is his last chance to bind a demon before the moon sets, and he doesn’t want to attack recklessly.

Instead, he steps into a sideways stance, reaching his left hand behind him as an anchor and aiming his right hand at the demon. He should pause to focus his spirit, but there’s no time – the demon is running right at him. It’s easier to just relax his control and let his spirit flow out of him. Power sparks from his fingers like lightning, crackling through the air towards the demon.

If it hits, a second form attack can be used to stun demons. Jasper’s magic, however, misses entirely.

The magic goes wide, tracing a bright, jagged path through the air and biting into a tree without even getting close to the demon. The demon flinches away from the light, interrupting its direct attack, and takes up a circling prowl instead.

Jasper glances back at Doran. “That was on purpose. I wanted to scare it.”

“Right. Well, should you wish to hit it, make sure you take time to focus. Imagine the path you wish the magic to take as you channel the power.”

“Got it. Although I’m not sure I have any time to take right now.” Already, the demon’s drawing close again, wary now but just as hungry.

Giving up on the second form for now, Jasper takes the third form. Almost immediately, he can feel the impatient itch of power building between his palms, and he pushes it out into a bolt of magic that sears towards the demon.

The demon tries to dodge out of the way, but the magic slams into its back leg. It collapses with a rough yelp and struggles for a moment before it can get back onto its feet. One of its legs is injured now, billowing black smoke, and its predatory creep towards Jasper and Doran becomes slow and lurching.

Jasper’s heart pounds triumphantly. He quickly sends another bolt of magic at the demon. It’s tempting to hold onto the flow of power and extend it into a beam, but he forces the impulse back, and the small, focused burst strikes true, hitting the demon in the chest and knocking it down.

“Well done,” says Doran, and Jasper grins, feeling a thrill of warmth. He’s actually doing this.

The demon lies crumpled on the ground, unable to rise. Jasper takes a step closer, his hand going to the iron rings attached to his belt. They’re plain bands, bracelet-sized, without the intricate decorations or the inset adamant gems of Doran’s demon rings – for now. As he unhooks a ring from his belt, Jasper’s mind is already leaping forward, imagining how it will feel to wear the ring once it holds the demon’s adamant locked in its iron grasp. His heart is racing.

The demon stares up at him with baleful eyes, and then suddenly lunges forward, injured legs scrabbling in the grass, teeth snapping close to Jasper’s legs. Jasper jumps back.

In old stories, demons voluntarily formed contracts with humans, both benefiting from working together. Philosophers still argue that being bound is a preferable state for demons, compared to the endless struggle of life in Deimos. But that’s all theory – an actual demon will fight to the death rather than be bound. Jasper can’t expect any surrender.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for the second form?” says Doran from behind him, and Jasper nods, his eyes fixed on the demon.

This time, when he steps back into the form, he takes a moment to draw in a breath and imagine how his spirit will flow out of him and hit the demon in its exposed side. And then, instead of imagining the end effect of his magic, he’s imagining the thrill of power running through him, and then, instead of just imagining it, his control slips and it’s actually happening, his body lighting up with a rush of power, magic bursting forth to strike the demon like a bolt of lightning.

Sparks dance along the demon’s pelt as power flows into it, haloing its crumpled shape in white. For a heartbeat Jasper can only watch, thrilling at the tingling rush of magic. Then he remembers his goal and fights to regain control, dragging his spirit back and dropping his arms.

It’s too late. The demon’s fur is charred and black smoke billows from its body. Before Jasper can do anything, it shudders, its eyes closing, and dissolves entirely, leaving its adamant rolling lifeless on the ground.

Jasper’s heart lurches. He stares at where the demon had been, frustration surging through him, hot and bitter. His left hand is clenched so tightly around the demon ring that the edge is digging painfully into his palm.

Suddenly Doran is close, putting a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. Despite himself, Jasper feels warmth flood from Doran’s touch down through his body, clashing with the churn of frustration and shame, making his skin prickle with heat. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“That was effectively done,” says Doran. “If the final attack had been slightly less… enthusiastic, it would have been a fine example of demon hunting.”

Jasper looks down to reattach the demon ring to his belt. “Less enthusiasm. Got it.”

“You know what I meant. The second form is highly useful under the right circumstances, but it’s known to be difficult to control. Perhaps you should –”

But Jasper stops listening, because when he looks up, his attention is caught by movement on the far side of the clearing. Under the shadows of the trees is the silhouette of a person – someone with two long horns and the glint of a smile in the moonlight.

Jasper’s mouth goes dry. “Doran –”

But he’s cut off by Doran exclaiming in turn, his voice low and urgent, “Jasper.”

Jasper jerks his gaze to Doran. Doran’s looking at the other side of the glade, where they came from.

Jasper follows his gaze. A lesser demon is emerging from the trees. It has gray fur and a ridge of spines on its back, like the one he just fought, but it’s bigger, the scrawniness of the first demon replaced by muscle that makes its forelegs and shoulders hunch like a hyena’s.

The demon’s eyes are locked on Jasper and Doran, and it growls, a low sound that vibrates like it’s coming from all around Jasper.

No – the growl _is_ coming from all around him. Even more demons are stepping out of the trees, all alike, with wolf-like bodies bearing sharp spines. Before Jasper can react, there’s already more than a dozen of them in a semicircle around him and Doran, drawing slowly closer. These demons have none of the hungry desperation of the demon Jasper just fought – their movements are slower, the self-satisfied prowl of a predator that thinks it’s already won.

“Well,” says Doran in a low voice. “This is unusual.”

He’s standing very straight next to Jasper, his usual casual grace gone sharp and tense, and it’s that, even more than anything else, that sparks the cold rush of fear down Jasper’s spine.


	21. Whispered

Tris wakes up on his third and final night in Deimos feeling like he didn’t sleep at all. He’s vibrating with a strange energy, haunted by sharp-toothed dreams and eager to escape the attention of the other mages in the tower.

It feels better to be out on his own, alone in the shadow-striped forest. Tris has always been good at doing what he’s supposed to, and it helps to focus on the job at hand: exploring the forest, putting an end to any lesser demons he encounters.

He finds two of them, both small. The second shows up late into the night and tries to attack him, darting its slender head at him like a snake. Tris steps neatly out of the way, builds power in the fifth attack form, and reduces the demon to smoke before it can make a second attack.

Afterwards, Tris pauses to take a deep breath of the still night air. It’s reassuring to know he’s still a competent demon hunter, and it’s nice to have a moment that’s not impacted by the situation with the greater demon. He turns to move on, feeling much calmer than he did at the beginning of the night.

When he turns, though, the greater demon is right there, his bare skin glowing gold in the moonlight, his jewelry glinting, his dark eyes fixed on Tris.

Tris’s calm shatters into a sharp rush of adrenaline. Instantly he’s alert, tension gripping his body. “How – how long have you been there?”

The demon smiles. “Long enough to see that you’re an elegant killer, mageling.”

“That’s not –” Heat flushes Tris’s cheeks. “It’s my job to destroy demons. To remove threats.”

“So are you going to try to destroy me?”

Tris swallows. “No.”

“Why not?” murmurs the demon, drawing closer.

Tris looks away, his face hot. He tries to pick the least revealing reason: “Because I couldn’t. You’re too strong.”

They both know that’s true, but somehow the words have the dark thrill of a confession anyway. Tris feels suddenly breathless, more vulnerable in the admission of his powerlessness than in the fact of it.

“That’s right.” The demon steps closer, suddenly intent. “Don’t forget, mage. You’re in the land of demons. The law here is that the strong take what they want.”

He’s very close to Tris now, gazing down at him, his dark eyes burning. The air catches in Tris’s throat. Fear sparks down his spine and desire comes rushing in after, prickling over his skin. He and the demon aren’t touching but he can’t help wishing they were, that he could feel the demon’s cool touch, the press of his mouth.

The demon continues, his voice quiet now that they’re so close. “You understand that. You take what you want from _terevant_ like that one because they’re too weak to defend themselves.”

Tris’s heart pounds. “No – that’s –” But under the cold pressure of the demon’s eyes, he falls silent. 

“So, mageling,” murmurs the demon, “what else do you want?”

And Tris – Tris has known all along what he wants. Standing here, with the demon so close, he can feel it throughout his whole body. And now, at last, he’s tired of worrying about whether he should want it, and he’s eager to just want it, to let himself fall into desire like plunging into a lake. To sink into the depths of desire until he drowns in it.

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, the demon kisses him.

It’s an ambush of a kiss, sudden and rough, the demon’s mouth fitting itself hard to Tris’s, his hand seizing the back of Tris’s neck. The demon licks into Tris’s mouth like he can steal the words from his tongue, and Tris has no choice but to offer them up, open-mouthed and helpless against the plundering force of the kiss, his heart racing with the thrill of yielding.

When the demon finally pulls back, Tris has forgotten what he was trying to say. But the demon grins and picks the conversation back up: “I’m not sure it matters what you want, actually. I said the strong take what they want, so I’ll take you however I want.”

The words come out low and vicious, powerful enough that they resonate through Tris’s whole body, knocking the breath from his lungs.

The demon grins at him for a heartbeat, then leans close again. Tris shivers, his lips parting. But instead of kissing him, the demon seizes him and turns him around, pushing him against a tree.

Tris gasps. He catches himself against the tree, the bark digging into his palms. The demon’s chest is pressed to Tris’s back and his breath is cool against Tris’s neck, and his hands slip around Tris’s body to open his belt.

Tris shudders, desire twisting hot in his stomach. He doesn’t know what the demon is planning to do, but he knows he wants it.

The demon slides Tris’s belt free, then steps back just enough to grab Tris’s arms and pull them back, forcing Tris forward into the tree. Tris feels the demon wrap the belt around his wrists and hears the clink of the buckle. A shudder runs through him and he tugs instinctively at his arms, but the belt holds them securely behind his back.

Tris hears the demon breathe out slowly, pleased. For a moment they’re both still, the only point of contact between them the demon’s hands still lingering on Tris’s wrists, and possibilities fill up the space between them like whispered words. The demon’s hands slip down to Tris’s hips, and Tris breathes a ragged breath against the rough bark, his back arching a little.

Then the moment breaks. Pulling Tris by the hips, the demon turns him around, and Tris stumbles to face him again, lets himself be pushed back against the tree. The demon’s eyes are impenetrably dark as they scan Tris’s face and then linger on his neck.

Tris’s heart pounds in his throat. The demon’s lips are slightly parted and Tris can see the gleam of his sharp teeth. Instinctive fear flashes through him like lightning, illuminating the dark swell of his desire.

All the demon does is reach out and touch Tris’s neck, his fingers tracing the bruise he left there last night. Tris shudders at the touch, his eyes falling closed. He expects the demon to gloat, to talk about how Tris is marked as his, and his stomach gives an eager flip at the thought of hearing the words.

But the demon says nothing, just lets his hand linger on Tris’s skin. Maybe there’s no need to say it out loud, when they both understand it.

Tris opens his eyes. The demon is just looking him over, slowly, his eyes traveling down Tris’s body.

Tris feels heat burn his cheeks as the demon’s eyes drop lower. He’s already hard, his cock pushing obviously against his pants. The demon’s eyes linger there, and Tris can’t help squirming, shifting his feet and pressing his shoulders back against the tree.

The demon’s gaze jumps back to Tris’s face long enough to flash a vicious grin, and then he sinks to his knees.


	22. Feverish

Tris’s body recognizes the implication first, his stomach doing an eager flip, heat flooding his cheeks. It’s only a heartbeat later that his mind catches up.

“Oh,” he breathes, staring down at the demon in front of him.

The demon reaches for him, and Tris feels a shudder run through his body, alarm clashing with the thrumming pulse of need in his veins. His hips twist, half trying to pull away, half pushing closer. But there’s nowhere to go, and the demon’s hands are already opening his pants and pulling out his cock.

Tris closes his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cool touch of the demon’s hand sends a jolt of need through him, but he also feels tension grip him, clenching the muscles of his stomach and making his hands fist where they’re tied behind his back. He feels exposed and vulnerable this close to the demon’s sharp teeth.

But all the demon does is hold Tris’s cock gently and lean in to drag his tongue along the tip. Tris jerks like he’s been shocked, trembling at the wet, intimate friction of it.

“Ah, _enkileth_...” murmurs the demon, pleased, and even if Tris doesn’t understand the word, he can’t help the little skip that his heart does at the heat in the demon’s voice.

Then the demon leans in, slowly, letting Tris’s cock slide into his mouth. Tris forgets how to breathe. The demon’s mouth is soft and wet and cold enough to make goosebumps break out all over Tris’s body. It makes him feel dizzy and feverish, the way his cock slides hot and full on the demon’s cool tongue.

Before Tris can get used to the sensation, the demon closes his lips around him and starts to move, bobbing slowly up and down. Tris shudders helplessly, overwhelmed by the wet slide of the demon’s mouth and the tight pressure of his lips, pleasure surging through him in waves.

He uncurls his fists and presses his palms against the tree, trying to ground himself with the bite of the rough bark. He can’t forget how close the demon’s sharp teeth are, how vulnerable he is with his hands bound. The demon may be on his knees, but it’s Tris who’s utterly at his mercy.

Even that thought is an electric thrill, a brilliant thread of danger woven into the dark, expansive swell of pleasure. The demon keeps sucking on Tris, no hint of teeth, only the tight, slick pressure of his mouth, and Tris knows he has no chance of solid ground. He’s caught in the sensation like a swimmer in an unruly sea, his body gripped and tossed by pleasure, his lips parting around desperate gasps.

The demon only encourages him, pulling him closer by the hips, humming an eager noise between wet swallows. The hunger in the sound makes Tris shudder. He knows exactly what the demon wants out of this, and the idea still feels piercingly filthy, like a hook through his belly, twisting his insides into a knot of need.

It’s all too much. In only moments, he’s on the edge of orgasm, waves of tension running through him, making him tremble and jerk and pull helplessly at the belt around his wrists.

But just when he’s on the verge, the demon pulls back. Tris gasps at the cold air on his cock, and tries to draws in breath to speak, to beg the demon to keep going – but the demon, holding Tris’s cock in his hand, ducks his head and licks the tip again. He laps at it, greedy swipes of his tongue, and Tris, dizzy and oversensitive, cries out as pleasure jolts through him.

The demon’s tongue teases Tris until he has no breath left, until his back is arched and his toes are curled and he’s trembling all over. Finally the demon stops, pausing with his hand around Tris’s cock, and all Tris can do is whimper, a broken, desperate sound.

Then the demon leans in, sucking Tris into his mouth, swallowing him deep in one smooth movement, and instantly Tris is undone. He’s coming, pleasure swelling up through him like a tidal wave, his cock jerking and spilling onto the demon’s tongue.

Tris moans, helpless, and the demon responds with a low hum, sucking eagerly, his mouth drawing Tris’s orgasm out in pulse after pulse. Even after Tris finishes, the demon keeps sucking, until Tris is shuddering, oversensitive to the point of pain, trying to pulls his hips away. Only then does the demon sit back on his heels and gaze smugly up at Tris, licking his lips.

Tris closes his eyes. His chest is heaving and his legs are shaky. He leans back against the tree and lets himself sink down, folding himself onto the ground.

The demon says nothing, just stays where he is, watching Tris until Tris finally opens his eyes. Then the demon smiles, baring his sharp teeth. “You see, _enkileth_? We can both get what we want.”

Clarity is returning slowly to Tris. He can’t help staring at the demon, beautiful and otherworldly with his endless black eyes and the elegant arch of his two horns. He shivers. “What does that mean? _Enkileth_.”

The demon grins at him. “That’s just my name for you.”

There’s an edge to the demon’s voice, like there’s a joke that Tris is missing. Tris frowns. “Well, my name is Tristan.”

“Tristan,” repeats the demon slowly. He shifts closer, crawling forward until he’s straddling Tris’s lap. Looking down at Tris, he cups Tris’s face in his hands. “My Tristan.”

The demon’s hands are cool and his voice is light, teasing. A shudder of fear runs through Tris. He feels trapped suddenly, like a mouse under a cat’s paw, feeling the soft pads but not yet aware of the claws.

But intertwined with the fear is a rush of heat. He likes the press of the demon’s thighs against his, the soft pressure of the demon’s hands. He should hate the sound of his name in the demon’s mouth, the fact that the demon called him _his_ , but gods, he doesn’t.

Tris swallows hard. “Do you have a name?”

The demon smiles. “You can call me Veleth.”

Veleth, thinks Tris, looking up into the demon’s dark, dark eyes.

Veleth leans down then, and Tris’s breath catches, his lips parting, eager for the press of Veleth’s mouth. But Veleth stays a breath away as he reaches around Tris’s body. His hands find Tris’s, and he tugs open the belt buckle, freeing Tris’s wrists. Then he sits back, shifting off Tris’s lap.

Tris lets out a breath, his eyes tracking Veleth’s mouth, disappointed.

“Take what you want, mageling,” murmurs Veleth.

Tris’s stomach does an eager flip and he leans forward. But before their mouths can meet, Veleth draws back. Tris has to catch himself with his hands as Veleth slides out of the way and pushes smoothly to his feet.

Tris stares up, and Veleth grins at him, triumph written in the taut grace of his body. “See you around, Tristan.”


	23. Inescapable

“You mentioned something about fighting a demon army?” says Doran.

His voice is light, but Jasper hears a thrum of tension in it, barely audible over the echoing growls of the approaching demons.

There are over a dozen of them emerging from the trees, black eyes narrowed, sharp teeth bared. It’s hardly the legions that Jasper and Doran had joked about earlier, but it’s more than enough to threaten a lone pair of mages.

Jasper’s heart hammers against his ribs. The back of his neck itches, and he drags his gaze from the approaching demons to look back across the clearing, where he had seen a figure with horns just moments ago.

There’s nothing but trees there now. He swallows. Whatever that was, he can’t think about it unless it’s actively attacking them. Not when the pack of lesser demons is already coming closer.

He turns back to them, stepping into an attack form, aiming his hands at the demon closest to him. The chill coursing through his veins is as cold as fear but as fierce as determination.

He forces himself to grin at Doran. “Guess I got my wish.”

A smile touches Doran’s lips as he shifts smoothly into the first attack form. “Well, shall we?”

Jasper glances over and then can’t help watching as Doran breathes in, pauses for a heartbeat, and then lets magic surge from his hands, drawing a brilliant white line through the air. It strikes the closest demon like the truest of arrows, blasting it backwards. Black smoke billows where the demon falls.

Doran doesn’t release the magic, just turns his focus to the next demon. The nearby demons scatter, dodging away from the beam of power, but Doran easily catches the slowest one, knocking it back.

Jasper’s breath catches. Doran’s magic is sharp and precise in a way that Jasper doubts he could ever achieve, but watching Doran makes him want to, as much as he’s ever wanted anything. His spirit vibrates inside him, eager to join Doran’s, thrumming in his heart and itching in his palms. 

He breathes in, focusing on that pulsing knot of power, and then lets the magic flow out of him towards the advancing demons.

The one in his path ducks aside, its eyes shining in the light, and the beam of magic crashes harmlessly into the trees. Frustrated, Jasper aims for the next closest demon, but redirecting the beam of magic is slow and unwieldy, and he overcompensates. The bolt hits the ground in the front of his target, sending up clumps of dirt.

Jasper grits his teeth, trying to wrestle the magic where he wants it to go. Doran glances over. “Focus, Jasper.”

“I’m focusing!”

But he’s not focusing. The demons are approaching in a staggered semicircle, different ones darting closer and then falling back. Some of the demons that Doran hit are back on their feet now, injured but no less fierce. The sound of the demons’ growls fills the still air of the clearing, echoing and multiplying, making it sound like the demons are coming from every angle.

Jasper finds that he can’t help his attention jerking from one demon to another, looking for threats and refusing to stay on his target. His pulse is pounding in his ears. He’s hyper-aware of Doran next to him, the feeling of Doran’s magic like an electric current in the air, inspiring and distracting at once.

He manages to sweep his magic into a demon, but it’s only a glancing blow. As he tries to attack a different target, the first target scrambles back to its feet, and Jasper, his heart in this throat, jerks back towards it. The second demon continues unscathed, approaching Jasper from the side, mouth open and tongue lolling hungrily.

“Fuck,” grits out Jasper.

Doran huffs out a breath beside him. He’s stock-still, all his energy focused on his own attacks. He knocks down another demon, but there’s too many for him alone. The pack keeps dodging and shifting ranks, spreading out through the clearing.

Jasper barely has time to recognize how bad it is before one of the demon rushes in, lunging at him with a snarl. Jasper jerks away with a shout, dropping his stance and stumbling back into Doran, who spins and sends a bolt of magic that knocks the demon back.

Jasper drags in a breath. His spirit is running wild under his skin, making his hair stand on end. He struggles to draw it into a controlled knot as he steps away from Doran, trying to find a balanced stance again, his heart pounding. The other demons have shied away from the commotion, unwilling to risk another direct attack, but they’re still approaching, a bristling, many-toothed pack.

“Jasper.” Doran’s voice is low. “Can I try something?”

When Jasper looks over, there’s something hard and intent in Doran’s eyes. A request. Whatever Doran needs, Jasper has already agreed, would always have agreed. Looking into Doran’s eyes, he nods.

Doran reaches out and grabs Jasper’s arm. There’s a snap of power between them, a jolt that runs through Jasper’s veins like electricity.

Spirit transference.

There’s a purposefulness to it that was missing before. Doran’s spirit immediately pushes into Jasper, a smooth hot stream flowing through the point of connection. The sensation is familiar to Jasper, like the movement of his own power, but foreign at the same time. It sends a strange thrill through him, making his skin prickle and his spirit twist nervously in his chest.

Doran’s spirit is pushing in towards Jasper’s core, the intimate space inside his ribs that his spirit shares with his heart. Jasper’s breath catches, a shiver running down his spine in anticipation of Doran’s spirit making contact with his. The demons are pressing closer and closer, but he can’t focus on anything but this, the sensation of internal movement.

When he was younger, Jasper tried to teach himself to pick locks, using his mother’s hairpins and a close examination of key passages from a novel about a Ferelsian ne’er-do-well. He managed it exactly once, and at the time, he was surprised at how quiet the click of the last tumbler was, how fine the line between locked and unlocked, between impossible and possible.

That’s how it feels when Doran’s spirit meets his. The sensation when they touch is subtle, nothing more than a shiver of heat, a shared breath. It feels like something falling into place.

But there isn’t time to dwell on the feeling. Doran’s spirit twines snugly around Jasper’s and then pulls back. Jasper’s spirit is drawn along with it, down Jasper’s arm and into Doran.

Doran turns back to the pack of demons, planting his feet and throwing his right arm up as his left hand squeezes Jasper’s wrist. When he casts magic, the beam of light is blinding, a bolt like a tree trunk that crackles through the air and smashes through the demon in front of it.

Jasper’s heart leaps. He recognizes his power in Doran’s hands and he’s awed by it. This is what they can create together, their spirits locked in cooperation, their magic lighting up the clearing like an unknown sun.

Doran is drawing on Jasper’s spirit at a steady rate, but Jasper, eager, tries to send more. Gathering his spirit together, he forms a wave of power and pushes it through the connection between them. Doran makes a soft sound through gritted teeth, his fingers trembling against Jasper’s wrist, but the beam of magic grows even stronger.

So Jasper doesn’t stop. He moves his hand, turning it so he can clasp Doran’s hand, and they cling to each other as Jasper pushes his spirit into the twisting grip of Doran’s spirit, letting it surge out of him and into Doran.

Doran is stiff with tension as he channels their power, his hand squeezing Jasper’s tightly, his breathing shallow, but the beam of magic moves with perfect smoothness. Doran draws it in an arc, sweeping it through the approaching demons. They try to flee, but the beam is wide and precise and inescapable.

Jasper can only watch, breathless. Spirit transference feels like nothing else he’s ever experienced. It’s not the bright, addictive thrill of casting magic, but something deeper and somehow more powerful, something Jasper feels through every inch of his body. The warm pull of Doran’s spirit on his makes Jasper wants to pour everything he is out into Doran’s capable grip.

It feels like, together, the two of them can burn all the darkness out of Deimos, and Jasper has never wanted anything more.


	24. Constellations

Jasper never wants this to end. He and Doran are a lighthouse in the darkness of the clearing, their spirits twisting together, meeting and merging, building on each other to power the magic that flows from Doran’s outstretched hand. There’s a hot, thrumming rightness to this moment, their spirits fitting together as easily as their clasped hands, their breath coming short and sharp and synchronous.

But it doesn’t take long before there are no demons left to attack. There’s a sudden stillness around them, apart from the crackling beam of magic, and then Doran cuts that off too, dropping his hand. His spirit pulls gingerly back from where it’s twined together with Jasper’s.

Jasper drags in a breath. He doesn’t want this to be over. He feels empty, like there’s a hole inside him where the pressure of Doran’s spirit was a moment ago.

He turns to Doran, seeking, and his heart leaps when their gazes catch. Doran’s eyes have always been opaque, like the shine of a well-polished shield, but something has changed now. Jasper can see all the warmth in Doran’s eyes, brilliant and endless. It’s like pressing close to the windowpane of a brightly lit room, so that suddenly, instead of the reflection of the room, you can look out and see the stars.

“That was incredible,” says Doran, low and hoarse.

The words catch against something hidden inside Jasper and spark hot through his veins. Excitement blooms inside him, filling and overfilling the empty space in his chest, a tingling echo of the sensation of spirit transference.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice forceful, almost a challenge. He steps closer to Doran, staring up into his eyes, heat prickling over his skin like fire.

They’re very close now. Doran hesitates. “Jasper,” he murmurs, and maybe he means it chidingly, but his voice comes out low and eager.

All Jasper can do is press closer still, his heart pounding violently in his chest. All he can do is wait, his mouth set, his eyes locked on Doran’s.

Everything is perfectly still for a moment, there in the shadowy light of the setting moon. And then Doran moves, the way a powerful river shatters a dam, surging forward and drawing Jasper to him and kissing him.

It’s a sudden, violent movement, fast enough to steal Jasper’s breath before he can even gasp. But Jasper’s body responds instinctively to Doran’s kiss in the same way that his spirit trembled at Doran’s touch. Before he can even think, he presses forward into Doran, meeting and returning the force of his kiss.

The kiss snaps through them like lightning and then it’s over. They have to separate to breathe, to look at each other and see what kind of new world they’ve stepped into.

The air between them tastes like energy, the rush of triumph and the thrill of magic and the buzz of rules being broken. Jasper takes a breath and it makes his head spin, makes him feel bold and drunk as a first-year at harvest feast.

He grins at Doran. “Do that again.”

In the last shine of moonlight, Doran’s eyes are bright and his cheeks are flushed. His gaze searches Jasper’s face, taking him in, his eyes lingering on Jasper’s lips just long enough to send an eager shiver running through Jasper.

Doran swallows. “This isn’t how it’s going to be,” he tells Jasper, forcing sternness into his voice.

Jasper huffs out a breath. “Liar.” He can read desire in Doran’s eyes as clear as constellations in the night sky. He can tell that this is exactly how it’s going to be, from now on: the two of them pressed close, their bodies singing with magic, each other’s taste on their tongues.

He knows he’s right when Doran doesn’t even try to argue, just takes Jasper’s head in his hands and kisses him.

This time, the kiss continues past the initial desperate push into something long and hungry, their mouths moving together, Doran’s hand curling tight around the back of Jasper’s neck. It deepens into something unbearably intimate, Doran’s tongue hot and slick against Jasper’s, pushing possessively into Jasper’s mouth.

All Jasper can do is cling to Doran’s robes and kiss back, eager, desperate. He can finally feel the secret animal nature of Doran that he always knew was there, the panther under Doran’s smooth skin, power wrapped in elegance. Doran’s mouth moves deliberately against Jasper’s, like Jasper is his territory to claim. His arm curls tight around Jasper’s waist, pulling him close, strong and inescapable.

Want rushes through Jasper, a thrill that vibrates through his whole body. His spirit responds to it, tingling restlessly through his veins, buzzing in his already-hot face, slipping into his tongue like it’s trying to make contact with Doran’s spirit that way. But there’s no shock of spirit transference, not now. There’s nothing but the feeling of their mouths together, wet and intimate and human.

For a long moment, that’s all there is, Jasper and Doran pressed together, heat blooming in Jasper’s chest and spilling electric through his whole body. Then Doran pulls away suddenly. Jasper blinks. It’s much darker than it was only a moment ago, he realizes – the moon is sinking beneath the horizon.

“We have to go,” says Doran, his voice rough. Turning away from Jasper, he seizes a stick that’s fallen from one of the trees and starts to trace a circle in the ground.

Jasper stares, his heart shifting rhythms, the deep pound of desire going tight and urgent. If they don’t create a mage’s circle by the time the sun sets, they’ll be stuck in Deimos for another day – a pitch-black, demon-haunted day they’d be unlikely to survive. Especially if there are whole packs of demons working together. Especially if that figure Jasper saw earlier was a greater demon, sinister and powerful.

Doran moves quickly, finishing the circle and marking out runes in the dirt. The result is less elegant than a permanent mage’s circle like the ones found elsewhere in Marlyon Territory, but it will send them home. As soon as the circle is complete, Doran steps into it, and Jasper follows.

The circle is small, and Jasper’s heart gives an eager lurch as he steps close to Doran and looks up at him. He presses close, taking hold of Doran’s robes and leaning up, until he can feel the quick shuddering breath Doran takes, and then Doran curls a hand around the back of Jasper’s neck and crushes their mouths together again.

They kiss for one more heartbeat, a deep, urgent kiss, and then they’re ripped apart.


	25. Spontaneous

Jasper’s eyes snap open.

He finds himself, not standing and pressing close to Doran, but seated on the floor. They’re in Doran’s office back in Aethon, inside the mage’s circle that’s inked in black on the floor.

Jasper blinks, disoriented. The air here is thick and hot compared to the cool night of the demon realm, and his body feels different too – heavy, stiff, with the bonfire spark of his spirit dulled to something warm but inert.

His heart is racing. He can’t tell if it’s because of the shock of moving across realms, or the adrenaline of kissing Doran only a moment ago, or both.

He swallows hard. Was he really just kissing Doran? There’s still a lingering thrill coursing through his body, a memory of pressure tingling in his lips, but suddenly it all feels like something from a dream. In contrast to the shadowed forest of Deimos, the stark blue light of dawn paints Doran’s office with bright reality: the old-fashioned wood-paneled walls, the bookshelves heavy with serious topics, Doran’s large, paper-strewn desk.

Across from Jasper, Doran is already getting to his feet. “Well,” he says, turning toward his desk, “I suppose we have a few things to discuss.”

“Yeah?” Jasper pushes to his feet too. The feeling of kissing Doran is buzzing in his veins, and he wants to hold on to it as long as possible, the way you cling to a good dream upon waking. He gives Doran a wicked grin. “What did you want to… discuss?”

Doran’s gaze flicks to Jasper’s, then away. In the cool morning light, his eyes are bright and guarded, and he doesn’t respond to Jasper’s tone. “Well, first, the pack of lesser demons. Lesser demons have been known to work towards a common goal, but it was alarming to see so many of them, so well organized.”

“Good thing we were able to fight them off,” says Jasper, following Doran towards the desk, his heart still pounding.

Doran is moving aside piles of books and stacking papers, clearing a space to lay out blank sheets of paper. “Yes, although most mages those demons might have attacked wouldn’t have been able to.”

Jasper prickles at Doran’s bland tone. With his heart beating a stubborn rhythm against his ribs, he steps in front of Doran, interrupting his straightening of the desk.

“Jasper –”

Jasper sits on the desk and leans in towards Doran. “Before we worry about any other mages, weren’t we in the middle of something?” He lets his eyes slide down to Doran’s mouth, unashamed.

Doran breathes out slowly. His eyes jump down to Jasper’s mouth, then back up. His gaze is frustratingly hard to read, but there’s enough heat in it to send a slow, eager shiver through Jasper.

“Perhaps,” says Doran finally, his voice steady. “But we also need to discuss the lesser demons.” He turns away from Jasper, taking off his red mage’s robe and starting to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, his motions sharp and controlled. “There must be a reason for the novel behavior. Something or someone that would cause them to cooperate like that.”

Abruptly Jasper remembers the horned figure he saw. A little shock runs through him at the thought – with everything that happened after, he had forgotten all about it.

He sits up straight on Doran’s desk, desire set aside for the moment. “There’s something else,” he tells Doran. “I saw someone watching us from the far side of the clearing. I think it was a greater demon.”

Doran turns to him, a hand frozen in the act of rolling up his sleeve. “Are you sure? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t have a chance before the dog demons showed up. And the person – demon – whatever – was gone the next time I looked back.”

“Hm. But couldn’t have been a greater demon, not with the barriers between their lands and ours.”

Jasper knows that, but he can’t dismiss what he saw so easily. “Maybe it just formed on this side of the barrier. There’s plenty of adamant in Marlyon, right?”

“Yes, that’s a possibility. Spontaneous generation of a greater demon has never been attested, though, and the origins of greater demons aren’t well-studied enough to know how it would work.” Doran taps his thumb against his chin, thoughtful. The movement makes the sunlight from the window glint on the iron demon rings that encircle his forearm. The sight of all that bound power is still exciting, but at the moment, it sends a rush of frustration through Jasper.

He huffs out a breath. “Too bad we can’t just ask a greater demon.” From what Jasper’s learned, a bound demon still can’t be made to speak, or if it does, there’s no way to know if it’s lying. And apparently, greater demons are pretty reluctant to give up any information about Deimos or demonkind.

“Indeed.” Doran’s mouth quirks into a smile. “But not having all the answers is what makes the study of demons interesting.”

“If you say so,” says Jasper, smiling despite himself. This does seem like an interesting mystery. He already imagines the two of them fighting wave after wave of lesser demons, the sinister greater demon haunting their steps until the final, epic confrontation. Now that would be an adventure.

Doran looks thoughtful. “Well, barring more information about this alleged greater demon and what it might have been doing, I’d say that the pack of lesser demons is a more promising starting point for investigation. I’ll see if anyone has heard of any similar behavior being logged before.”

“Okay,” says Jasper, sensing he’s about to be assigned work, but Doran pauses.

“And then there’s the spirit transference.”

Immediately, the words call up to Jasper the feeling of it, the gentle intimacy of Doran’s spirit inside him, the potent pleasure of sending his power to Doran. He can tell Doran is remembering it too. Their eyes catch, and they both take a breath in unison, and for a heartbeat, the warm, stuffy air in the office has something of the sharp taste of magic.

Jasper’s heart gives an eager flip in his chest. He doesn’t want to let this moment go. He pushes off the desk and takes a step closer to Doran.

But Doran looks away. “We’ll have to discuss what this means for your education. The mechanics and strategies of spirit transference are usually introduced in fourth-year spirit theory, but with your natural ability for it, I think it’s best you do some reading before then.”

“Maybe we should just practice some more,” says Jasper. He says it lightly, but suddenly it’s all he can think about – recreating that moment in the shadowy clearing, that bone-deep thrill of tangling himself with Doran.

“Yes, well. We won’t be able to until the next moon.”

There’s tension in Doran’s voice, a low thrum that vibrates against the ache of want inside Jasper. Jasper’s breath catches. There are other ways to connect, he thinks, stepping closer to Doran. “And until then?”

Doran’s eyes find Jasper’s, and there’s something warm in his gold-green gaze, banked embers waiting to blaze. “Until then,” murmurs Doran, “we should...”

He doesn’t finish. He reaches up to brush a hand along Jasper’s cheek, and Jasper leans into the touch, curling his hand around Doran’s forearm.

The tingling charge of Doran’s demon rings shivers itself all the way through Jasper’s body, carrying him in closer to Doran, pressing their mouths together.


	26. Eventful

If Jasper had worried that kissing Doran was a dream, something that could only happen in the untamed wilds of the demon realm, that worry disappears as soon as he leans close and presses his mouth to Doran’s. The kiss has a powerful energy to it, even in this mundane world, a charge that runs down Jasper’s spine like lightning.

Jasper wants to go slow, to relish this. He wants to track every soft shift of their mouths and each wet stutter of their breath as proof that their connection is strong enough to cross worlds. But Doran kisses forcefully, demandingly, as fierce and sudden as a summer storm. The force is enough to press Jasper back until he stumbles into Doran’s desk. A pen rattles onto the floor, loud in the still room, and Doran jerks away from the kiss and drags in a rough breath.

“Gods, you...”

Jasper’s heart beats an eager rhythm against his ribs. “Yeah?”

Doran pulls back suddenly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re… not fair.” He takes a deep breath. “We can’t continue like this. We need to talk about what we’re doing.”

“Okay,” says Jasper, but he leans in anyway, his eyes on the soft line of Doran’s mouth, his pulse pounding in his ears.

But Doran pulls out of reach, his mouth straightening into a stern line. “Look, it’s been an eventful night.” His voice is even. “I’d say we need some time to rest and think.”

The words have the edge of a dismissal. Jasper frowns. “Are you sure? Because I –”

“Go rest,” Doran tells him firmly. “We have a lot to think about, and I have to prepare my report for the provost.” Jasper wants to object, but when Doran continues, there’s a hint of warmth in his voice. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow after classes?”

“Fine.” As much as Jasper wants to make this moment last, he also knows this thing between them isn’t something fragile, a short-blooming flower that could lose its petals at a breath. It’s a connection strong enough to cross worlds, and definitely solid enough to withstand another day of waiting.

And he is actually tired. Plus, he has a lot to tell Tris.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and he’s rewarded by a small smile before Doran turns his head down to the papers on the desk.

-

The university dining hall isn’t very crowded at this hour, and Jasper easily spots Tris at their usual table. Tris is staring out the window, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, an uneaten slice of toast on a plate in front of him.

“Hey, Tris,” calls Jasper, and Tris startles, sloshing some tea into his lap.

Jasper puts down his plate, piled high with eggs and sausage, and sits down. He grins as he watches Tris dab at his lap with a napkin. Every bit of Tris is so familiar, including the blush that spreads across his cheeks. Jasper thinks he might be an expert on flustered Tris by now: the way Tris ducks his head, the red shade of his ears among his dark curls.

The feeling of familiarity settles warm and heavy in his chest. After so much excitement, it’s comforting to be here with Tris, in their usual spot, just like always.

“Sorry to startle you,” he says.

“It’s fine, I was just – thinking.” Tris looks up, almost hesitantly, but then his eyes travel over Jasper’s face, taking him in. His mouth curves into a cautious smile. “You look like you’re in a good mood. Do I want to know what that means?”

Jasper grins. “You’re dying to know, because it’s an epic tale.”

As tempted as he is to jump right to the end of the story, he doesn’t want to give anything away, so he starts from the beginning. Between bites of breakfast, he covers his unwieldy but impressive attempts at magic, Doran healing the scratches on his face, the accidental spirit transference like foreshadowing for what’s to come. The growing tension between him and Doran, matched only by the thrilling threat of the demons they faced.

Tris glances away when Jasper describes in detail each time he and Doran touched, but for most of the story, he’s the perfect audience, his eyes wide and interested, his mouth curving with concern or triumph as Jasper recounts each demon encounter. It’s only when Jasper tells him about the mysterious horned figure that Tris freezes, his face paling.

“What did it look like?” he asks, his voice tight.

“It was in the shadows, so I couldn’t see much. But it definitely had two horns. And it was _smiling_.”

“What – what did it do?”

“Well, I only saw it for a second – because right after I saw it, Doran grabbed me, and I turned and…” Jasper trails off. Instead of leaning in, waiting for the next dramatic revelation, Tris is staring at the table, his mouth twisted. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I –” Tris starts, and then stops, biting his lip.

Jasper sets down his fork, suddenly concerned. “What?”

Tris hesitates for a moment, then he take a breath and looks up. His cheeks have gone pink again, but there’s determination in the thin line of his mouth.

“I also saw a greater demon. And – and I fought him. But it was... It didn’t go well. He hurt Avi.”

“Wow, really?” Jasper’s heart lurches as he pictures Tris going up against a vicious greater demon. “Wait, you summoned Avi?”

“I know we’re not supposed to, but I thought she could help. But she couldn’t do much against him.”

Jasper grimaces. “Are you okay?”

Tris looks down, turning the mug in his hands. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was just… intense.”

He glances sidelong at Jasper, as if to take in his reaction. Jasper is frowning. He hadn’t been worrying about Tris at all while he was in Deimos. He had assumed Tris would be fine, but hearing this, he feels a pang of regret and guilt. He wishes he could have been there.

“Did you call for help?” he asks. The spell would have alerted any nearby mages, at least.

Tris ducks his head. “Uh, I – I was going to… and when I threatened to, the demon ran off.”

“He did?”

“I guess he decided my b-blood wasn’t worth the trouble of fighting even more mages.”

“Huh. Well, that’s good, I guess that means you –”

“Can we not talk about it any more?” says Tris suddenly. “It – it turned out fine, and you never finished telling me what happened to you and Doran.”

“Oh. Okay, but we normally talk about everything,” points out Jasper.

Tris’s mouth twists at that and he doesn’t say anything. Jasper stares. He’s never seen Tris like this – even upset, Tris is usually ready to explain to Jasper what’s going on. Guilt knots Jasper’s stomach. He not only let this happen to Tris, but now he’s making it worse.

“But yeah, there’s still a lot of exciting stuff I have to tell you, if you want to hear it,” he offers.

“Yeah.” Tris takes a slow breath and looks up. There’s still something distant in his gaze, a shadow lurking behind the warm brown of his eyes, but he gives Jasper a smile. “Sorry. I’m just kind of tired.”

“Oh, yeah, I know what you mean.” Jasper sits back, running a hand over his head. He still wants to know exactly what happened during Tris’s fight with the greater demon, but it can wait until they’re both better rested. “Do you think it’s a bad idea to go back and nap all morning?”

“Yes, that’s a terrible idea,” answers Tris, and Jasper’s relieved to hear the smile in his voice. “We have to go back to our usual schedules tomorrow.”

“Oh Tris, why do you have to be so reasonable all the time?”

Tris looks pleased at this description of himself. “I’m just saying, you have History of Cren tomorrow and I’m sure you haven’t started the reading yet.”

“Maybe.” Jasper grins. “But don’t get too frustrated with me yet, wait until you hear everything that happened last night.”

“Uh oh.” Tris sighs, but his gaze on Jasper is warm. “Well, go on, then.”


	27. Knife-edge

When he was young, Tris was fascinated by fairy tales about changelings, children stolen away and replaced by demons. According to the stories, the child’s mother could always tell the difference: even if the baby looked and behaved just like before, there was something dark lurking inside it now, shadows in place of blood and a stone for a heart. The idea mystified young Tris. If the child acted the same, how could anyone tell it had a demon inside it?

Now, lying awake in his dorm room, Tris thinks about how different he is from the person who lay here four nights ago. Nothing about him has changed, but everything has. He knows things now that he couldn’t have imagined before: how it feels to yield himself to pleasure, and how pleasurable it is to yield. He knows how knife-edge thin the line between danger and desire is, how addictive the thrill of helplessness.

Just thinking about it kindles a rush of desire and shame in his stomach, fierce and forbidden. He’s always had this inside him, he knows, but he used to keep it tucked away in a box in a corner of his mind, unexplored. Now the box has been kicked over and his darkest desires have spilled out and taken over, spreading grasping roots through his mind.

Maybe he should stamp those thoughts out, try to forget all about what happened in the demon realm, but he can’t. Tris is weaker than he thought, and his weakness is this, the slow thrill of remembering the demon’s touch, of recalling his own fear and shame and desperate want. It feels too good to give up.

But he can’t go on like this, either, in case it’s visible from the outside, like a changeling with shadows lurking behind its eyes. He takes a careful breath, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe he can pack all his desire away, compress it into something solid and controlled. He’ll make of it a treasure chest of dark gems, hidden from everyone but him. Something secret and dangerous at the core of him, the way greater demons carry their adamant gems in place of a heart.

He likes the idea. When he thinks of it that way, it almost feels good, to have this forbidden knowledge of himself. To most people in the world, he’s totally unremarkable, and that makes it thrilling to have a dark secret, something nobody would ever think to guess.

The idea makes him wonder how many other people have something like that – a story they don’t tell, something they guide conversations around. If they did, Tris wouldn’t be able to tell.

Across the room from Tris, Jasper rolls over in his sleep. Tris glances over. At least Jasper doesn’t have any dark secrets – Tris would know if he did. The thought sparks a calming warmth in Tris’s chest. Tris has never quite figured out what he did to earn Jasper’s full confidence, but he has it, and he would never give it up.

It’s part of why Tris usually goes along with Jasper’s plans. It’s why Tris didn’t object when Jasper told him about kissing Doran, even though the idea still gives him a hot, unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jasper looked so earnest talking about Doran, like everything was right with the world, and Tris didn’t want to ruin that.

He had even ended up agreeing to Jasper’s idea that he talk to Doran tomorrow afternoon and report his encounter with a greater demon. Thinking about it now, the plan makes his heart give a nervous lurch. It was one thing to lie to Jasper about what happened, but he knows it will be another to face Master Doran’s piercing gaze and try to claim his only interaction with Veleth was a brief fight.

But he has to do it – for one thing, he wants to hear Doran’s thoughts on the situation. Could the demon Jasper saw really have been Veleth? Tris doesn’t like the idea, but Jasper had seemed convinced. And it is possible. Tris last saw Veleth in the middle of last night – the memory of it feels distant and immediate at once, Tris’s hands bound behind his back, the smooth cool pressure of Veleth’s mouth – so there might just have been time for Veleth to go all the way to Marlyon Territory, if he was determined to get there before the moon set.

But why? Surely – something twists in Tris’s stomach – surely he couldn’t want the same thing as he did from Tris. The thought sends an image across Tris’s mind before he can stop it: Jasper with his back arched, his eyes closed, his hips pushing forward into Veleth’s tight grip. Veleth flashing his fox’s grin as he leans in, close enough to feel each heaving press of Jasper’s chest, close enough to press his mouth to the strong column of Jasper’s neck.

At the thought, a wave of jealousy and protectiveness and deep, helpless desire knocks all the breath from Tris’s lungs. Veleth and Jasper meeting is the last thing he wants, and yet his body is eager for it, heat spilling out through his veins, clenching tight in his stomach. He thought he’d packed away all the grasping desire that was unlocked inside him, but suddenly it’s all over again, squeezing his heart, curling in his stomach, tendrils pinning him to the bed and reaching over towards Jasper, who lies unaware, his breath slow and even.

With a gasp, Tris shoves the image of Veleth and Jasper away. He rolls to face the wall and turns his face into the pillow. Jasper is off limits, he tells himself, biting the inside of his cheek. This newly unleashed thing is between him and Veleth. What’s between him and Jasper is… well, it hasn’t changed, and doesn’t need to.

And it won’t change so long as he can keep this secret hidden. He has to believe that. He forces himself to take a deep breath, lying completely still on his narrow bed, concentrating on gathering up all the strands of desire and pushing them into a corner of his mind.

He can do this. He has to. He’ll keep the memories of Veleth and the knowledge of his own darkest desires packed away like buried treasure. And from the outside, he’ll look exactly like the Tris Laurell he was before.


	28. Archives

Master Doran Telarren has a lot on his mind: two lectures and a seminar that takes almost the whole afternoon, papers to grade (after the two-day trip to the demon realm, he’s fallen behind), new worries about cooperation between demons and the integrity of the magical barrier protecting Deimos territory.

None of that stops him from thinking about Jasper Martins all day.

Jasper Martins, young and ambitious and powerful. Jasper Martins who wears strength in the square line of his jaw, in his solid, well-muscled body, in the fierce determination in his eyes, but who broadcasts his vulnerability to anyone who’s paying attention. Jasper Martins who demands attention, who burns like a small sun. Jasper Martins, whose power feels like fire and whose lips taste like summer.

Doran’s thoughts turn back to Jasper, again and again. He wants nothing more than to make Jasper his – to bask in Jasper’s warm, eager gaze, to let Jasper prove just how far this crush of his goes. There’s something selfish about this want, something greedy and jealous, and Doran, who never claimed to be a good person, relishes it. He wants everything from Jasper: his power, his body, his heart.

Doran recognizes this feeling, this hunger like a hook through his heart – he’s felt it before, a long time ago. Back then, it felt exciting, like the two of them were discovering a brand new world. Now it only feels like a trap.

The thought of Jasper is in every breath Doran takes of the summer air, but summer has to end eventually. Even now, there’s a tenuous feeling to the heat that lies heavy over Evenfell University, the sense that it’s overdue for its exit, that autumn will strike sudden and cold to make up for it. Doran remembers this feeling of hopeless desire from so many years ago, and he also remembers how it ended, in pain and loneliness and guilt.

Doran and Jasper can’t be together. Doran’s known that all along.

Doran will have to make sure Jasper understands when they talk this afternoon. Doran’s heart pounds at the thought – he can already imagine Jasper’s eyes bright with defiance, his wicked grin as he presses close to Doran, trying to change his mind – but he forces himself to push the image aside. He let himself be distracted before, but this time he won’t be.

Doran tells himself that every time his thoughts turn back to Jasper. He steels himself to be firm. And then Jasper comes in with the top button of his shirt undone and the sun’s warmth on his skin, his broad face lighting up with a grin when his eyes meet Doran’s, and oh, Doran is weak.

It takes him a moment to compose himself, to stand up from his desk with a calm expression on his face. That’s when he sees that Jasper isn’t alone.

Jasper nods at the boy next to him. “Master Doran, this is my roommate, Tristan Laurell.”

“I was in your Spirit Theory class two years ago,” offers Tristan.

“Ah, yes,” says Doran, walking around his desk to shake Tristan’s hand. In truth, he barely remembers Tristan, but that tells him something on its own – that he’s likely a decent student, quiet, unremarkable. “Anything I can help you with?”

Jasper jumps in. “Tris fought a greater demon the last night in Deimos.”

“I see.” A chill runs down Doran’s spine, the almost-pleasant sensation of a problem becoming bigger than he initially thought it was. “Perhaps we should sit down?”

Doran studies Tristan as he and Jasper take to the two chairs in front of Doran’s desk. In contrast to Jasper, who’s solid, dark-skinned, with rough-textured hair cropped close to his scalp, Tristan is pale and slender, with soft dark curls. He’s much harder to read than Jasper – there’s something hidden in his brown eyes, just out of reach.

Doran appreciates the momentary distraction from his circling thoughts about Jasper. “What happened?” he asks Tristan.

Tristan tells him nervously about his fight with a greater demon, the painful but closely matched struggle once he summoned one of his bound demons. He takes a breath and finishes, “I said I’d send up a flare and other mages would come kill him. After I said that, he just left.”

“Did you cast a flare?”

Tristan looks down. “No, I – as soon as the demon left, I was more worried about myself and Avi. I was just thinking about getting to the tower. I was a little – upset.”

He looks upset now, his mouth twisted uncomfortably, his face going pink all the way to his ears. He’s not meeting Doran’s eyes.

“I see,” says Doran calmly, watching Tristan. Is he just embarrassed by how he handled the situation? Upset by the memory of the fight? It sounds very atypical for a demon to flee like that. Could Tristan be hiding something?

Jasper interrupts his thoughts. “Do you think that’s the same demon I saw?” The curiosity in Jasper’s eyes is tempered by concern, earnest hurt on behalf of his friend, and Doran suddenly feels callous for thinking Tristan might be hiding something.

“It’s possible,” he says quickly. “I suppose we have two scenarios – either there’s a single greater demon with both a technique for crossing the barrier and strange motives, or there’s a systematic issue with the barrier that allows multiple demons to cross.”

“Have there been any other reports of greater demons?” asks Tristan.

“Not to my knowledge.”

Tristan nods, but his expression is still troubled. “What – what are you going to do?”

“We’ll have to redouble our inspection of the barrier, and certainly warn everyone to stay alert during our next trip. Until then, I suppose we should comb the archives and see if we find any clues to what’s going on.” Doran gives a small smile. “At the least, this seems like a great opportunity to expand our knowledge of demon abilities.”

Tristan looks thoughtful at the idea. “Right.”

“I’ll bring this all to the provost and I’ll let you two know what the plan is.” Of course, the plan will likely be to sit and wait until the next new moon makes it feasible for them to return to Deimos, but there will be plenty to discuss and research in the meantime.

He nods at Tristan. “Thank you, Tristan. Jasper, could you stay behind a moment?”

He’s careful to keep his voice even, to show neither affection nor apprehension on his face, but he can’t help the painful pound of his heart as Jasper’s expression breaks into an eager grin.


	29. Potential

The door closes behind Tristan, leaving Doran and Jasper alone in Doran’s office.

For a moment, there’s silence between them, thick with anticipation. Jasper’s gaze rests eagerly on Doran, and Doran can imagine what he’s hoping will happen: that Doran will go over and kiss him, pressing him back against the chair, or else pull him up by the shirt and push him against the desk. Something sudden and fierce, like a spark in dry tinder.

Desire twists hot through Doran at the thought, but he forces himself to ignore it. He knows he’s making the right decision. All he has to do to remind himself is to look behind Jasper, where a memory lurks just out of reach, tossing dark hair from its eyes and giving Doran a wicked smile.

Doran takes a sharp breath and focuses on Jasper. “We need to talk.”

“Sure,” says Jasper, leaning back in his chair, anticipation still dancing in his eyes.

Doran can’t hesitate. He keeps his voice firm. “We can’t be together, Jasper.”

Jasper is surprised for a moment, and then his eager expression folds, his mouth flattening, his gaze cutting away. Doran’s heart beats painfully against his ribs. Part of him aches to take it back, to reassure Jasper – to tell him how amazing he is, how wanted.

But he says nothing. And in the same instant, Jasper’s expression shifts. Stubbornness blooms in the set of his jaw and unfurls up the length of his spine, pushing his shoulders back like a fighter’s, raising his gaze to Doran’s.

He flashes Doran a smile, bright and shallow. “You seemed okay with being together yesterday.”

Doran’s pulse quickens at the thought of yesterday – the echo of Jasper’s power in his veins, the heat of Jasper in his arms, the taste of Jasper’s mouth. But even then, in the midst of it all, he knew that this couldn’t work.

“Emotions were running high yesterday. I may have gotten carried away.”

“What’s so bad about that?” asks Jasper. There’s challenge written on his face, in the angle of his chin, but that doesn’t hide the vulnerability shining in his eyes.

Jasper is so young. He hasn’t learned, yet, that life won’t always allow you to take whatever you want. That gaining something precious is the first step to losing it. That sometimes, despite your best efforts, the boys you love are too stubborn to be loved, and the worlds you love them in too vicious.

Doran knows he can’t make Jasper understand. Instead he tells him, “A relationship would be inappropriate given our academic roles.”

“We can keep it a secret.”

“It’s not that. We should be focused on your development as a mage. And we have larger concerns, like the greater demon situation.”

“And we can’t have any _distractions_ , I know,” says Jasper, an edge creeping into his voice. “You know, I’m actually pretty smart. I think I can handle multiple things at once.”

Doran takes a slow breath. “Look, I know this is hard, but it’s better for us to be clear about it now.” Jasper doesn’t respond, just looks down, tracing the carved arm of his chair with a thumb, so Doran continues with heat in his voice, “I admire you, Jasper. I see such great potential in you. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

Jasper’s gaze snaps up to Doran’s, and he searches his face for a moment. Doran looks back, carefully keeping his expression calm, unyielding. This is the way it has to be.

Finally Jasper leans back, running a hand over his head. “Fine.” Then his eyes flick to Doran’s, and he flashes a grin. “Just one thing.”

“Yes?”

Jasper stands up. There’s something fierce under his smile, a lingering spark in his gaze. “Can I at least have one last kiss?”

Doran’s breath catches, but he keeps his voice flat when he tells Jasper, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” says Jasper, drawing closer.

“Jasper,” says Doran warningly, but his voice comes out rough. It’s Jasper who’s not fair, the tantalizing heat in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his full lips in his strong face. It feels like Jasper creates his own gravity, too strong for Doran to resist.

And it’s just one kiss. It won’t change anything.

He stands suddenly to meet Jasper, curls his hands around Jasper’s face – he loves the way Jasper reacts, his sharp inhale, the way his whole body leans in towards Doran – and kisses him.

He wants this to be calm, gentle, but that thought deserts him as soon as his presses his mouth to Jasper’s and Jasper pushes eagerly back. Jasper kisses hard, but his lips are soft and yielding under Doran’s, and Doran can’t help kissing them apart, pressing his tongue into Jasper’s mouth.

Jasper kisses back fiercely, his tongue tangling messily with Doran’s, his hands curling around Doran’s back to press their bodies together. He’s almost vibrating and Doran wants to swallow all that energy, wants to run on it the way a clockwork machine runs on adamant.

The thought spirals through his head at the same time that he licks deep into Jasper’s mouth and Jasper makes a low groan into the hot, closed space between them – something eager, almost surprised, almost full of wonder. Something _young_ , and Doran can’t let himself lose control like this.

He jerks away from the kiss, letting go of Jasper, stepping back.

“One kiss,” he reminds Jasper, his voice tight.

Jasper looks at him, dark-eyed. “That was it?”

“I believe it would meet the definition, yes.” Doran looks away, trying to ignore the steady weight of Jasper’s gaze, and his eyes fall on the pile of books waiting on his desk. “Now, on the subject of spirit transference –”

But Jasper only steps closer. “That shouldn’t count, it was too fast.” His mouth curls into a grin, his wicked, brilliant grin that Doran is so weak to. “If you’re going to break my heart, you’d better make our last kiss something I’ll remember.”


	30. Deliberate

There’s something triumphant in Jasper’s expression as his eyes trace Doran’s face, like he already knows Doran is going to give in.

Doran swallows hard. He’s not going to give in, he tells himself. He can’t let himself be so transparent, so easy to manipulate. And Jasper needs to learn that he can’t always get what he wants.

He keeps his voice stern. “Jasper, we just discussed this.”

“We can’t be together, I know.” Jasper grins, fierce and challenging. “All I’m asking for is a kiss.”

Doran hesitates, his heart pounding. If only he didn’t love this so much – Jasper’s boldness, his fragile but fierce intensity. If only Jasper wasn’t so beautiful like this, the stubborn set of his jaw, the flash of his smile, his eyes dark with desire and hot with defiance.

Is Doran resisting this because that’s the wiser choice, or because it feels good to draw this moment out, to feel the heat of Jasper’s attention on him? There’s a guilty kind of thrill to this, a breathless tension like the space between a bolt of lightning and the inevitable thunder.

Jasper steps even closer, his gaze lingering on Doran’s mouth, and Doran’s stomach gives an eager flip.

Maybe, Doran realizes, he was always going to give in.

“Fine,” he says, and takes Jasper’s face in his hands.

Jasper breathes out, shaky and excited, his lips parting, but Doran doesn’t kiss him yet. He leans in until they’re just close enough that their lips brush. Jasper tries to push closer, tries to pull Doran closer with his hands twisted in Doran’s shirt, but Doran keeps them both still, not quite kissing.

This feels good, in a way that sends a twist of heat through Doran’s stomach. Doran should be the one in charge here. He should be the one making decisions.

“No more nonsense after this,” he says quietly, his lips almost brushing Jasper’s. “Do you understand, Jasper?”

A shiver runs through Jasper. “Okay,” he breathes.

Doran gives it one more moment, one more eager breath in the space between them, and then he pulls Jasper in and kisses him.

As soon as he feels the soft press of Jasper’s lips, desire floods his veins, hot and demanding, tightening his hands around the sides of Jasper’s head. But he refuses to get carried away. He holds on to the feeling of control and kisses Jasper slowly and deliberately.

Jasper shudders, his lips parting, and Doran presses carefully into the heat of his mouth. Jasper kisses back eagerly, meeting each sweep of Doran’s tongue with his own. They both keep the same slow pace. Doran lets the kiss deepen into something messy and intimate, tracing Jasper’s cheeks with his thumbs, his heart beating hard in his chest.

Before, Doran could feel himself falling into the kiss like falling off a cliff, sudden and alarming. This time, everything feels deliberate. Like he’s chosen to step out over empty air, and it’s fine, because he’ll just take this one step and then turn back to solid land. It’s a lovely delusion: that he has this under control, that after this he’ll be able to forget about the feeling of Jasper’s gasped breaths against his lips, the angle of Jasper’s cheekbones under his thumb, and he’ll be able to move on.

He has to cling to that delusion, because this feels far too good to stop. Doran’s right next to his desk, and he shifts to sit back against it, pulling Jasper to stand between his legs. He slides his hands down to the small of Jasper’s back and pulls him in close, and Jasper gasps into Doran’s mouth, a long shudder running through him, pressing his chest against Doran’s, his stomach, his hips.

Gods and demons, Doran can feel Jasper’s cock, hard and unmistakable even through their clothes.

That should be enough to make Doran finally stop this, but for a moment it’s not. For a moment Doran is paralyzed by want, desperate for more of this, for everything. He wants to reach between them and touch Jasper, wants to feel the weight and heat of Jasper’s desire. Jasper is so beautiful, and Doran wants to see him bare, wants to see him tense and trembling, eyes blown dark with ecstasy.

The desperate thrum of his heart is painful. He forces himself to take Jasper by the upper arms and push him away. “Enough.”

Jasper’s gaze lingers on Doran’s face, his body tense with unspent energy, his eyes hungry. They’re both breathing hard. Doran expects Jasper to press close again, to demand more. He must know Doran won’t be able to resist.

But Jasper steps back. “Fine.” He turns away, reaching up to run a hand over his head, his shoulders shifting as he takes a breath. When he turns back, his smile is tight. “Whatever you say.”

Doran stares, his pulse racing, then slowly nods. “Right.”

This is what he wanted, after all.

He breathes in, slowly, as if the still, warm air of the office can displace the churn of heat inside him. This is for the best, and he’s glad Jasper is listening to him. He’s glad he didn’t get carried away. It feels good to be on solid footing, to turn away from the bright expanse of sky and focus on the ground under his feet.

“Now then.” He turns to the desk, places a steadying hand on the pile of books he’s assembled. “As I was mentioning, I’ve gathered some books on spirit transference that I believe you’ll find instructive.”


	31. Linguistics

Entering Evenfell University’s library feels a bit like stepping into a different world. Outside, the sun is bright and the air thick with heat, but inside, the air is cool and dry, and everything is lit by the bright glow of adamant-burning lamps. The lamps burn unchanging, night and day, and it makes the library feel removed from the normal passage of time.

Tris knows the library well, but he still pauses as he steps in to look around. The building is all pale, cool stone, but everything inside is warm. Dark wooden shelves reach all the way to the ceiling, packed with old books bound in leather and cloth, accessible via sliding ladders that gleam gently in the golden light of the lamps. Beyond the high-ceilinged main room, narrow hallways spread like the roots of a tree, branching into small study rooms and twisting into cozy nooks. Every study spot seems to be perfectly placed so that the hum of quiet conversation and the rustle of papers from the main room are comforting background noise rather than a distraction.

Tris takes a deep breath of the familiar smell of the library and, for the first time since visiting the demon realm, starts to feel like everything’s going to turn out okay.

A demon hunter’s job is to destroy demons, but studying and understanding demons is a crucial part of that. Tris is in a strangely good position to do that now, he thinks as he slips into the stacks. He’s already learned something about how demons can acquire spirit energy, even if he could never bring himself to tell anyone about it – but if he sees Veleth again at the new moon, he can gather other information too.

Before, his thoughts about seeing Veleth again were guilty ones, shame pricking down his spine as he imagines the forbidden pleasure of Veleth’s touch. But maybe, he thinks, cooperating with Veleth is not so self-indulgent after all. He might learn a lot, if Veleth will talk to him: how Veleth entered mage territory, whether he was the one who followed Jasper, what the strange behavior of the lesser demons might mean.

That’s assuming Veleth will talk to him. Thinking about it, Tris can easily imagine that Veleth will only bare his sharp teeth, and press a cool hand over Tris’s mouth, and murmur in his ear, “Don’t we have more important things to do than talk?”

The image sends a rush of heat through Tris, desire like a tentacle of darkness twisting through him. He swallows hard, staring at the books in front of him. Maybe that’s not how it will go, he thinks. Maybe Veleth will shrug his bare shoulders and give Tris a lazy smile, and say, “Okay, mageling, what do you want to know?”

It might be silly to think that Veleth would cooperate with him, but Tris can’t help thinking it’s possible. He can easily imagine the indulgent warmth of Veleth’s tone as he agrees – Tris remembers perfectly the warm murmur of the word “mageling” in Veleth’s mouth, the strange teasing lilt of _enkileth_.

Tris’s stomach gives a little flip at the thought. He doesn’t know what the nickname _enkileth_ means, but the way Veleth said it makes it feel like a sign of affection. And hadn’t Veleth called him, “My Tristan,” with his hands lingering softly on Tris’s face?

Tris’s heart pounds. He’s glad that the library is quiet this time of day, and there’s nobody walking by who could notice the flush building on his cheeks, the shaky rush of his breath. In the days since Tris returned to Aethon, he’s gotten pretty good at not dwelling on thoughts of Veleth. He waits until he’s alone to slip into the dark corner of his mind, to carefully handle each memory like a dragon going through its hoard – late at night, or early in the morning when nobody else is up, guilty and breathless in the dorm shower.

But here, now, with the tall bookshelves staring down at him, with the murmur of two students conversing not far from him, is not a good time. Tris shouldn’t be thinking about this kind of thing. But, as practiced as he’s gotten at setting aside desire, his current thoughts are harder to shake: the memory of Veleth saying his name, the question of whether Veleth actually feels any affection towards him.

Would it even be possible for a demon to feel affection like that? Demons are supposed to be bloodthirsty and stone-hearted. Any warmth Tris imagined was probably just Veleth manipulating him. Veleth was probably laughing at how predictable Tris was, the way he blushed and stammered at the merest word.

Even that sends a curl of warmth through Tris’s stomach, because there’s a dark, hidden part of him that wants to be used. Some piece of him likes the idea that his body is nothing but a tool for Veleth, something Veleth can make use of however he wants.

Tris swallows hard. It’s dangerous to think about this now. And he’s supposed to be researching, anyway. He forces himself to take a slow breath.

The warm dusty scent of the books brings his attention to the shelves in front of him. Based on his discussion with Master Doran, there are a few things he could look up that might provide clues as to the events of the Deimos trip. For some reason, though, his eyes land on a small blue volume: _Demon Language and Communication_.

He slides the book from the shelf. There might be a definition for _enkileth_ in here, he thinks – but even ignoring that, he can’t help being curious. In class, he learned that greater demons speak their own language, but he knows nothing beyond that. Plus, it feels good to have a book in his hand, a concrete sign that he’s doing research, not just standing around thinking about Veleth.

He takes _Demon Language and Communication_ and settles into his favorite comfortable armchair.

The book turns out to be more a discussion of what’s unknown in the field than a great source of information. There’s a small lexicon, but _enkileth_ doesn’t appear on it – most of the words are battle-related, intelligence gathered during the demon wars. Nowadays, there’s less motivation to study the demon language, and less opportunity as well: mages can send psychic orders to their bound demons, and demons are reluctant to reveal anything about their own language.

In short, the book suggests, the field of demon linguistics is wide open. Tris, sitting curled in his chair, feels a spark of excitement. If Veleth was willing to call Tris a demon nickname, he might be willing to reveal more, too. Tris could gain some real knowledge from this, something useful to the university, and not half as compromising as what he’s learned of Veleth’s appetites.

Of course, all this is predicated on the idea that he’ll see Veleth when he returns to the demon realm. But Tris can’t help believing he will. There are things, thinks Tris with a shiver, that Veleth has not yet done to him.

And if Tris goes along with it, if he lets Veleth use him in as many filthy ways as possible – he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it, if it’s in service of learning more about demons. Right?


	32. Technique

For once in his life, Jasper is good.

Following the rules has never been a strength of his, but he’s trying. It’s been almost a week since he last talked to Doran. Doran had assigned him a book on spirit transference to read and told him they could discuss in a week, with his voice just cool enough to make his intentions perfectly clear – no more _nonsense_ , as he had called it.

So Jasper’s being good. He reads the book, Sanders’ _Practical Instructions for the Transfer of Spirit_ , and he doesn’t go to see Doran. It’s easy.

Maybe it’s easy because he knows in his rebellious heart that he’s not being good at all.

He thinks about Doran all the time, until his pulse races and his skin prickles with heat. There’s an edge of danger to Doran, sharpness evident in his quick mind and his biting tongue, the way his gaze sparks against Jasper’s. The way he moves is sharpness disguised as grace, like razor-edged blades of grass shifting in the wind. Wanting him almost hurts, and Jasper loves that feeling, wants to lean into it and feel the thrill of danger like a blade against his skin.

It’s enough that Jasper can ignore, at least for the moment, the need for action that simmers inside him, hot and restless, urging him to go take what he wants. He’s being good. It’s only a week until he’s supposed to meet Doran, after all, and he doesn’t know what will happen then.

On the afternoon they’re supposed to meet, there’s a thread of coolness in the air. The sky is dark overhead as Jasper crosses the campus. It feels like a storm, a break to the endless heat they’ve been having. Jasper grins, taking a deep breath. He likes the inevitability thick in the air, the feeling of pent-up tension edging towards a break.

When he enters Doran’s office, Doran gets up and shakes his hand. “Ah, Jasper. Good afternoon.”

Jasper squeezes Doran’s hand. The buzz of the demon rings on Doran’s fingers shivers up Jasper’s arm, and then the warmth of Doran’s firm grip follows after, a slow sweeping heat that travels from Jasper’s palm to the soles of his feet.

As much as Jasper’s been thinking about this, he still feels caught off guard, trapped in Doran’s gold-green gaze. Sometimes it still seems ridiculous that Doran should want him at all. Doran is brilliant and powerful, and it doesn’t make sense for him to want to work with Jasper, to even want to speak to him, much less want to kiss him – and yet Doran wants all of those things, Jasper has proof of it, the memory of Doran’s desire lingering on his lips like an imprint that will never quite come out.

If he steps closer now, pulls Doran’s hand to his waist and presses into the lean strength of Doran’s body, if he kisses Doran with all the ferocity he feels pounding in his pulse – he doesn’t think Doran would stop him.

Jasper hesitates, his eyes slipping down to Doran’s mouth. There’s tension lurking behind Doran’s neutral expression, drawing his mouth into a tight line, lending an edge to his gaze. Jasper realizes that Doran doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. As sharp as he is, in this moment, he can’t predict what Jasper’s going to do.

Jasper likes that. He relishes the feeling of power, knowing he could ruin everything Doran was arguing for last week just by crossing the scant space between them.

But he’s not going to.

If Jasper learned anything from _Practical Instructions for the Transfer of Spirit_ , it’s the importance of trust. Jasper can’t imagine not trusting Doran, not believing fervently in his competence. He wants more than anything for Doran to trust him too.

He lets go of Doran’s hand. “So, I read the Sanders book.”

Doran hesitates only a moment before he nods. “Excellent.” He turns back to his desk and gestures to the chair in front of it. “Please, have a seat. What did you think of it?”

Jasper sits and leans in to rest his arms on the desk. “It was actually interesting.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“You know, I didn’t realize what you did when we were up against the dog demons was such a special technique. That was guided transference, right?”

“Yes. It seemed like the best option at the time.”

Jasper still feels a shiver run through him whenever he thinks about it, Doran’s spirit slipping inside him and drawing out his own. “It was really cool.”

The corners of Doran’s mouth twitch up. “Well, I’m glad it worked. Next time, we can be more deliberate about our approach.” His gaze is focused on Jasper, bright and demanding, but there’s something warm in his voice. “In fact, having read Sanders, what would you suggest as a good practice regimen for our next trip?”

By the time Jasper and Doran finish discussing spirit transference techniques, the threatened storm has finally arrived. Rain drums heavy on Jasper as soon as he steps outside, and a cool breeze snaps against his skin. Even though he’s getting soaked, Jasper can’t help grinning as he hurries back to the dorm.

Tris is sitting at his desk, and he turns as Jasper enters and then stares. “Wow, it really is raining.”

“Yep.” Jasper drops his damp book bag on his bed and heads towards his dresser, starting to peel off his wet shirt.

Tris turns away from Jasper, back to his desk. “So, you were talking to Doran, right? How was it?”

There’s still an ache in Jasper’s chest, a restless curl of need in his stomach that’s as frustrated as ever. But he can’t help feeling relieved. He’s sure he could hear warmth in Doran’s voice, clear approval of Jasper’s restraint. Jasper loves the feeling of Doran’s attention on him, the hint of wry humor and the barest shade of affection underneath the strict critical edge of it. He doesn’t want to ruin that, no matter how much he wants to kiss Doran.

Plus, the weather’s changing, Tris seems to have recovered from what happened with the greater demon, and it’ll only be a few short weeks until Jasper and Doran return to Deimos and fight a mysterious greater demon conspiracy. Jasper can’t help feeling optimistic.

He turns to grin at Tris, and tells him, “Well, I can’t say we did much talking...”

As he’d hoped, Tris flushes pink at the suggestion. “Jasper! I thought you said –”

Jasper laughs and tosses his wet shirt at Tris. “I’m just kidding. We talked about spirit stuff the whole time.”

Tris grabs the shirt, his face going even redder, and throws it back. “Really?”

“Yeah,” says Jasper, and grins. “I was good, I promise.”


	33. Roots

Tris dreams about the demon realm every night for weeks.

In his dreams, he faces armies of lesser demons while lurking greater demons whisper incomprehensible things into his ears. He falls apart at Veleth’s touch and comes back together as a demon prince, bedecked in gold. Or, sometimes, he wanders under the purple sky, looking for someone he can never seem to find. At least he always wakes to his plain little dorm room, and faces the same comforting routine: a day of classes and then, in the evening, more research.

Really, the dreams are no surprise, given how much time he spends combing through old records about Deimos. Master Doran is still trying to understand the coordinated attack on him and Jasper, and Tristan is glad to help, and eager, too, to research his own experiences. But despite his diligence, he can’t find anything concrete. Each place he looks is less helpful than the last, all poorly remembered accounts, each decried by other scholars as invented. 

The problem is that demons feature so often in fairy tale and fantasy, with their powers and motivations so often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, that scholars have learned to immediately dismiss anything that sounds remotely like a tall tale. Tris understands the urge – he, too, yearns for solid facts, something he can hold onto and weigh like a stone in his fist.

But dismissing anything even slightly dubious doesn’t leave much to go on, and Tris starts to wonder. When he thinks about Deimos, sunless and strange, he feels the hard facts he’s clinging to turn to smoke in his grip. Deimos is dark and unexplored. Why shouldn’t some of the stories be true? Tris, after all, met a demon who didn’t want to kill him, a demon who touched him gently and murmured his name. Anything might be possible.

So, as much as it seems to be all dead ends, Tris keeps researching. He keeps dreaming, too – of strange cities shining under the full moon, of changeling children with dark eyes, and, always, of Veleth, dressed in gold and gems, waiting with a patient smirk for Tris’s return. Tris knows he probably won’t see Veleth again, but he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop the anticipation that sparks down his spine as he makes preparations to travel to Deimos.

When Tris opens his eyes under the purple sky of the demon realm, it feels different than usual. The normal eerie silence is filled with distant conversations, and the overwhelming darkness is interrupted by flashes of red robes. After what happened last time, the provost has determined that for this trip, all available mages will travel to Tallowell Territory and comb through the forests and foothills for greater demons before they spread out.

Tris’s path runs through the foothills of the Tallowell mountains that form the eastern edge of the territory. The forest isn’t as dense here, but there are still plenty of trees, black and twisted, clinging to the side of the mountain or digging their roots into the rocky ground. At first, Tris can still hear other mages moving alongside him, but then they start to spread out, so that soon, Tris might as well be entirely alone.

He fights the nervous anticipation that crawls up his spine. He knows the other mages are close. And with this many mages around, any intelligent demon would flee, and any small demons that are left won’t pose much of a threat. If anything, this might be one of the safest trips he’s ever made to Deimos.

That’s what he tells himself, and he’s almost starting to believe it when he hears a voice behind him, smooth and unmistakable. “Ah, Tristan...”

Tris whirls, his mouth going dry.

As much as he’s been thinking about Veleth, dreaming about him, as much as he held out hope that he might see him – it’s entirely different to actually be in front of him.

The images in Tris’s head never quite captured the depths of Veleth’s black eyes or the exact savage curl of his grin. As many times as he dwelled on the memory of Veleth’s body, he’s still struck breathless by the beauty of it, lean and gloriously bare except for jewelry and the wrap Veleth wears around his hips. He’s still caught off guard by how otherworldly the shape of Veleth’s horns is, how intimidating the way Veleth holds himself, his weight forward like a predator about to strike.

The feeling that twists through Tris’s heart is the feeling of surrender.

Veleth smiles at him. “It’s been a while, mageling.”

“W-what are you doing here? There’s mages everywhere.”

“Are there? I don’t see any of them coming to save you.”

The other mages might be out of sight, but Tris knows they’re close enough to come running if he were to cast a magical flare. But he knows, too, that he’s not going to cast it. He doesn’t want to be saved.

“What do you want?” he asks Veleth, even though he already knows the answer, even though just the thought sends a slow, helpless shiver of desire through him.

Veleth steps closer, until they’re face to face. Tris takes a sharp, shaky breath. His heart pounds like a call to retreat.

Veleth just smiles. “Follow me, trinket, and I’ll show you what I want.”

And he turns, his dark hair sweeping behind him. Tris has no choice but to follow.

Veleth leads him to the mountainside, where there’s a cave opening tucked under a craggy overhang. There’s enough moonlight to see a narrow tunnel leading into the stone, but everything beyond is darkness.

Tris stops, his heart leaping up his throat. “What’s in there?”

“Come in and see.”

Tris gives his head a shake. “I – I’m not going in there.”

Veleth draws close and curls his hand around Tris’s cheek. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for a long time,” he murmurs, and the words send heat twisting through Tris’s belly. “I’d take you right here if I could.”

Suddenly Veleth’s voice sharpens. “But your little friends might interrupt.” He slides his hand up and grabs Tris by the hair. “So follow me, mage.”

He yanks Tris’s head toward the cave, and Tris gasps at the pain in his scalp, tears coming to his eyes. He has no choice but to stumble into the cave after Veleth, blinking helplessly into the dark, his pulse pounding in his ears.

They make at least two turns before they stop walking and Veleth lets him go.

There’s a sharp sound, and then a spark illuminates Veleth’s face and blooms into fire – Veleth is lighting an oil lamp. Suddenly the cave is filled with warm, flickering light.

Tris stares. 

It’s not a cave but a room. Far above, the ceiling is dark stone, but Tris is standing on an intricately woven rug, and around him, the walls are draped with fabric, purple and deep red, embroidered with gold, each a different pattern from the next. The space is small, and there’s not much furniture beyond a pallet piled with a mess of sheets and blankets and a wooden chest half spilling its contents onto the ground. Even so, the room manages to feel full and lavish, overflowing with rich, dark colors and the shimmer of gold in the lamplight.

For a moment Tris is overwhelmed. He turns to Veleth, breathless. “Is this… do you live here? How can you – how did you get past the barrier –?”

“Tristan,” interrupts Veleth, low and sweet, and Tris swallows.

“Y-yes?”

Veleth grins. “I didn’t bring you here to talk.”


	34. Shattering

Tris swallows the rest of his questions and waits, his heart drumming against his ribs, to find out what Veleth wants from him.

Veleth’s voice is quiet, but it echoes in the small space with the force of a command: “Undress.”

Heat rushes to Tris’s face. Undress? He’s already so vulnerable, alone with Veleth in this secret cave, and he can barely stand the thought of being naked, too. Defenseless. His stomach twists with a tangle of fear and desire, and he hesitates.

But Veleth’s gaze is unyielding, and there’s impatience written in the tense lines of his body. Tris doesn’t have a choice.

He swallows hard and shrugs off his mage’s robe, letting it crumple on the rug at his feet. His hands are shaking as he starts to unbutton his shirt. Veleth just watches, unmoving, a smile curving his lips. He must notice the flush deepening on Tris’s cheeks, the way his breath shudders, and that makes this even more embarrassing, makes Tris’s stomach squirm and his heart pound.

Tris wishes Veleth would step forward and tear Tris’s clothes off himself, vicious and eager. Or even that Veleth would undress him slowly, one button at a time, his fingers just skimming Tris’s flushed skin. Anything that Tris had no control over, that he could tell himself wasn’t his choice. Anything but this, Tris carefully taking off his clothes like a drawn-out act of surrender.

The more skin he exposes, the more he can feel the environment pressing in on him, this secret space like its own little bubble within Deimos. The room feels lavish and soft in the lamplight, but foreign, too. Not quite human. Everything here, thinks Tris – the rich-colored blankets on the bed, the intricate little knickknacks in brass, the jewelry stored in careless heaps – belongs particularly to Veleth. Under Veleth’s greedy gaze, Tris can’t help feeling like just one more possession, something to be hidden away here and used. The thought makes his stomach flip over, makes his belt buckle rattle in his hands as he tries to undo it.

By the time he’s down to his undershirt and shorts, it’s hard to breathe. There’s heat burning his cheeks and buzzing through his veins, a confusing and potent mix of humiliation and need. He desperately wants this to be over, for Veleth to touch him so he can lose himself in the pure, inevitable pull of pleasure.

Closing his eyes, he pulls his undershirt over his head and pushes down his shorts, and then he’s entirely naked under Veleth’s hungry gaze.

He stands tense and breathless, waiting for Veleth’s touch. But none comes. Tris opens his eyes. Veleth is unmoving, his eyes sliding down Tris’s body – over his stomach, which shudders with each uneven breath, then lower. Where Tris’s cock is flushed and stiff, already hard from the weight of Veleth’s gaze on his body, the shame as hot as arousal in his blood, the heavy promise of what’s to come.

Tris wants to turn away and hide himself, but he’s caught, frozen like a rabbit in front of a wolf. Veleth’s eyes linger on his cock for a long moment, until it gives an eager twitch and Tris makes a soft, desperate noise.

Tris feels entirely overwhelmed, hot and cold at once, a blush burning under his skin and the cool air of the cave giving him goosebumps all over. Being naked makes him feel fragile and defenseless, like even his insides are exposed: the pound of his heart, the thrum of his pulse, the ache of want in his belly that tightens with every breath.

Finally Veleth grins. “My Tristan.”

And with a suddenness like the shattering of glass, Veleth surges forward, grabs Tris, and pushes him down to the bed. Tris lands hard, but the bed is soft under him, the pile of blankets yielding as he falls onto his back.

Before he can get his bearings, Veleth is already kneeling in front of him and ducking his head to take Tris’s cock into his mouth.

The sensation hits Tris like a lightning bolt, the cold shock of Veleth’s mouth, the sudden intimacy of Veleth’s tongue against him. He cries out, tensing, half sitting up.

But Veleth doesn’t wait for Tris to catch up. He’s already moving, his mouth sliding up and down Tris’s cock, tight and slick. Tris is frozen for a moment, breathless, and then the sight hits him: Veleth with his head bowed, his long lashes dark against his golden-brown cheeks, his elegant mouth curved around Tris’s cock. It’s unbearably, deliciously filthy. All Tris can do is collapse back onto the bed, breathing out a low, desperate moan.

Veleth doesn’t pause. He’s single-minded, holding tight to Tris’s hip and sucking hard as he slides up and down his cock. Tris shudders under him. He already felt raw and defenseless from undressing under Veleth’s gaze, and the sudden sensation of Veleth’s mouth is magnified until it’s almost unbearable. He’s helpless against the pleasure that surges through him, relentless as waves pounding a shore.

He’s not going to last much longer. He’s been thinking about this for a month, and judging by the hungry urgency of Veleth’s movements, Veleth has been waiting for this as well. They’re careening towards the conclusion of this with breathless fervor, Veleth’s fingers digging into Tris’s hip, Tris’s back arching and his hands twisting white-knuckled into the blankets. 

Finally Veleth groans, low and impatient, and curls his hand around Tris’s cock. He starts to stroke Tris in short, tight pulls, his hand sliding easily on Tris’s slick shaft, and Tris shudders. Veleth’s still sucking on the head of Tris’s cock, his mouth tight and wet, and it’s overwhelming, enough to catch Tris’s breath in his throat, to make his whole body tense as he trembles on the edge.

Then Veleth’s tongue flicks against the tip of his cock, a slick, intimate tease, and suddenly it’s inevitable. Tris moans, helpless, as he starts to come, pleasure crashing through him like a breaking wave, his cock spilling into Veleth’s mouth. Veleth makes a low sound around the head of Tris’s cock, swallowing eagerly. His fist slides steadily on Tris’s shaft, pulling pulse after pulse from him, until Tris cries out, oversensitive.

Even after Veleth finally pulls off, Tris is still breathing hard, his lips parted around the ragged rush of his breath, his eyes closed tight.

He doesn’t even notice Veleth lying down next to him, until suddenly Veleth’s lips are against his and Veleth’s tongue is pushing into his mouth. Tris startles. But his mouth is already opening instinctively under Veleth’s, his head tilting to press them closer. The kiss is slow and messy and it’s easy to lose himself in it, kissing Veleth back until he can taste the hint of saltiness lingering on his tongue.

Tris is naked in Veleth’s bed, his cock lying spent and wet on his stomach, tasting his come in Veleth’s mouth. Thinking about it makes his stomach twist in a way that should be uncomfortable, but somehow, instead, it catches on the embers of pleasure lingering in his belly and sends one last spark running through him. He shivers, gasping against Veleth’s mouth.

Veleth swallows Tris’s gasp, his lips curling into a smile.


	35. Heedlessly

The first breath Jasper takes of the cool air of the demon realm tastes like possibility. He has no idea what this trip will bring – an epic showdown with a greater demon, a pitched battle against a legion of organized demons, or just three nights of working side-by-side with Doran – but every option sends a thrill down his spine, as electric as his spirit pulsing in his chest.

He springs to his feet. The eerie purple sky stretches above him and the sinister forest surrounds him, but it’s Doran who draws all his attention. The rich red of Doran’s robe and the warm brown of his skin stand out against the darkness, but he moves with an easy grace, like he belongs here. Just looking at him, Jasper wants him with a low, desperate ache, the same way he has this entire month. The way he’s been careful not to act on ever since Doran said they couldn’t be together.

Right now, though, it’s hard to feel like that matters, here in another world, where bloodthirsty demons could threaten their lives at any moment. If there was ever a place to break the rules, it would be here, under the same silvery moonlight that lit their first kiss.

A shiver of potential runs through Jasper, and he looks at Doran, grinning. “So, what’s the plan?”

Doran pauses, his eyes lingering on Jasper’s face, but all he says is, “You don’t recall?”

“Yeah, I do – go north, look for greater demons or anything else suspicious.” Jasper glances around, but it’s too dark in the forest to see anything. He can’t even see any other mages, although he knows they’re nearby, all moving in the same direction in an effort to uncover any lurking demons.

“Indeed. Although –” Doran hesitates. “There’s no need to rush. It might actually be preferable to stagger our search with other mages.”

“Okay.”

“Perhaps we should pause here. We could practice spirit transference.”

Doran keeps his voice completely neutral, presenting the idea offhand, but Jasper isn’t fooled. They’ve done spirit transference exercises in Aethon, but it’ll be different here, with their spirits burning inside them like living things. Doran must be as eager to feel that connection as Jasper is. 

Excitement quickens in Jasper’s chest, and he nods. “Sure.”

Doran steps forward. His voice is even as he says, “First, let’s open the connection.”

He offers Jasper his right arm, and Jasper clasps it with his right hand. The iron rings banding Doran’s forearm tingle under Jasper’s touch, but he focuses on the warmth of Doran’s skin instead. Carefully he draws a thin line of power from his spirit and sends it down his arm toward Doran.

It’s easy. The power jumps between them like a spark, and suddenly the connection is open. A shock runs through Jasper, enough to vibrate his spirit in his chest, making it spill over its bounds like water overflowing a cup. The trickle of power flowing to Doran swells into a stream.

Immediately Doran pulls his arm from Jasper’s grip, drawing a sharp breath. “Jasper. I didn’t say to start sharing power yet.”

“Oh.”

“You need to be in control. Wait until I say, and then send a small amount of power to me.”

Jasper nods. “Okay.”

They clasp arms again, and the jolt of connection runs through Jasper like lightning. His spirit surges against his ribs, eager to get free, but he catches his breath and forces it back.

Doran’s eyes are locked on him. “Now, please, a small amount.”

Jasper carefully lets a small tendril of his spirit reach for Doran and slip through the connection between them. Doran doesn’t pull away, and Jasper lets his breath out in a rush. The warm flow of energy feels wonderful, relief from the buzzing fullness of his spirit, and it’s tempting to let even more power spill into Doran. But Jasper fights the urge, keeping the stream of power steady as he meets Doran’s intent gaze.

“That’s excellent,” murmurs Doran, and instinctive heat blooms in Jasper’s stomach, a pleased rush that makes his spirit shiver inside him. He grins through the effort of holding it back, and Doran smiles back.

The demon realm stretches endless around them, full of mages and demons, but just for a moment, Jasper and Doran’s worlds are narrowed to the movement of power inside them. The sounds of other mages have already disappeared into the distance, but now even the murmur and creak of the forest around them fades away, and all Jasper can hear is their breathing and the pound of his heart.

There’s something about the connection between them, the presence of Jasper’s spirit inside both of them, that changes something in Doran. His smile is less tight, his eyes more open. Jasper can feel the warmth in his gaze, and then beyond that he can see something else, something bright and hungry as desire.

Jasper’s pulse starts to race. He feels it too, the way this connection between them reaches beyond their clasped arms and encompasses their entire bodies. He thinks they’re breathing in unison; he thinks that Doran must be able to feel the heat gathering low in Jasper’s belly, the same way Jasper can feel the desire in Doran’s eyes echoing in his own heart.

Doran clears his throat. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“Okay,” breathes Jasper, but he doesn’t want to give this up quite yet. He’s been sending over such a small amount of power that his spirit still feels full in his chest, eager to be spent, and it feels so good to feel it flowing out of him, reaching for Doran. He can’t bring himself to stop.

“Jasper, enough,” growls Doran.

It’s what he said before, in his office, when Jasper was kissing him. The memory shudders through Jasper: the heat that had built between them, Doran’s hands pulling him in tight, Doran’s body against his.

Jasper gasps and tries to end the transfer, but he fumbles and his tightly-held control slips. And suddenly his spirit surges uncontrolled through him, up his throat and down through his belly and out through his hand on Doran’s arm. It sweeps into Doran like a river swelling over its banks, pushing through Doran’s defenses, tangling heedlessly with Doran’s spirit.

For a second, neither of them can move, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation, Doran’s hand tightening on Jasper’s arm.

Then Doran jerks his arm from Jasper’s grip and turns away. The connection between them severs with a snap like static electricity.

There’s a heartbeat of breathless silence. Doran is frozen, his back to Jasper, his shoulders tense.

Doran must be more disappointed in Jasper than he’s ever been, if he’s not even willing to look at him. But instead of shame, Jasper feels defiance run through his veins. It’s not his fault he lost control, he thinks – it’s Doran’s. Doran’s the one who suggested spirit transference, even though he must have known it would lead them here. Doran’s the one who knows the effect he has on Jasper, and puts them in these situations anyway. The one whose eyes keep promising things that his words say are forbidden.

It’s not Jasper’s fault. And he’s not going to let Doran make him feel like he messed up, especially not when he’s been so good for so long.

He’s about to tell Doran that when Doran turns suddenly. Jasper, expecting cold admonishment, is stunned by the fierce heat in his eyes.

And before Jasper can do anything, Doran takes his face in his hands and kisses him.


	36. Friction

Jasper already has defiance burning under his skin, so when Doran turns with fire in his eyes and kisses him, they meet in a shower of sparks.

Jasper, expecting a reprimand, is taken by surprise. But this was always inevitable. Immediately he can’t help pressing close, meeting the hot, urgent force of Doran’s kiss and returning it.

He was already buzzing, full of unspent spirit power, tingling from Doran’s touch. He was already hot with frustration at not being allowed this. Now that it’s happening, he can’t help pouring all of that energy into the kiss. He pushes as close as he can, twisting his hands in Doran’s robe and making a low, eager noise into Doran’s mouth.

The kiss lasts a brief, fierce moment, and then Doran pulls away. He stays close, his thumbs tracing Jasper’s cheekbones roughly, his eyes searching Jasper’s. His gaze is bright and shadowed at once, like summer clouds chasing each other across the sun.

“This is a very bad idea,” he says finally.

“Your idea,” points out Jasper, breathless.

“Yes, well. You’re very – tempting.”

Heat shudders through Jasper. “Yeah?” He tries to lean in again, but Doran holds him still, drawing a shaky breath.

“Listen, everything I said before is still true. Even if we continue down this path, it can’t… mean anything.”

Jasper, distracted by the warm friction of Doran’s fingers on his skin, the echo of pressure on his lips, just nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“Jasper. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

“Yeah, I get it. No feelings, just... a way to stop being so distracted.”

“Right.” Doran’s voice is firm even if his breathing is a little uneven. “Just while we’re here. This isn’t how things are going to be once we return to Aethon.”

Jasper doesn’t care about the future, not when he has Doran in front of him right now. “Sure.”

“And, even here, we can’t let any… indulgence interfere with our actual duties.”

“Yeah.”

“I just want to make sure that we’re –”

Jasper makes a short, frustrated noise. “Doran, please, just shut up and kiss me.”

Doran’s eyes flash. “You’re still my apprentice. You shouldn’t talk to me that way.”

“Then stop me,” says Jasper, gazing back just as fiercely.

And Doran lets out a breath like a laugh, leans in, and kisses him.

He kisses hard, as if proving a point, but Jasper doesn’t need to be convinced. He twists his hands in Doran’s robe and kisses back, deep and eager. After so long telling himself he can’t have this, it’s thrilling to finally experience it, to lose himself in connection and friction, heat and the shudder of their breath.

He could do this forever. It’s Doran who pulls away eventually, stepping away from Jasper and scanning the forest around them.

But there’s no sign of either mages or demons. They’re alone.

Jasper steps close again, grinning up at Doran. “Still think this is a bad idea?”

Doran’s mouth twists for a moment, and then his hands find Jasper’s waist. He pulls Jasper with him as he moves, shifting backwards until he’s leaning against a tree, and then he pulls Jasper in snug against him, so that their bodies fit together, chests pressed against each other.

“Very much so,” answers Doran, but his voice is breathless, and his arms are firm as they wrap around Jasper’s back.

A long, eager shiver runs through Jasper as their mouths meet. It’s not just that he’s getting what he wants – it’s that Doran wants this too. That’s obvious in the strength of Doran’s arms around him, the shudder of Doran’s chest against him, the deep, slow way Doran kisses him – like he wants to taste every bit of him, to feel every tiny shift between their mouths.

Jasper’s heart is racing. It’s all so good, the feeling of Doran’s body against him, the soft press of his lips, the slick, intimate sweep of his tongue. Desire is burning hot in his veins, curling tight in his stomach, making heat prickle under his skin. Making his cock harden in his pants.

He doesn’t know if Doran can feel it. If Doran’s about to push him away, growl, “Enough” –

Or, instead, if Doran’s going to pull Jasper in tight, arms around his lower back, and swallow the eager noise Jasper makes against his mouth.

Need surges helplessly through Jasper. His hips hitch, pushing his cock against the solid heat of Doran’s body. Even through their clothes, the pressure feels so good that all he wants to do is cling to Doran and rub up against him –

Before he can chase the feeling any further, Doran breaks the kiss, his hands seizing Jasper’s hips, stilling him. He turns his face up to the calm purple sky, taking a deep breath. “Jasper...”

“Yeah?” breathes Jasper.

Doran pushes Jasper back by the hips, just enough that when he looks down between their bodies, he can see the shape of Jasper’s cock standing up hard and obvious in his pants.

“What am I going to do with you?” he murmurs, his voice rough.

Heat twists through Jasper’s stomach. He shudders. “I – I can think of a few things.”

“I imagine you can.” Doran’s hands tighten on Jasper’s hips. “This is –”

“A bad idea?” puts in Jasper.

Doran’s eyes skip to Jasper’s face. “Don’t be impertinent.”

Jasper just grins, breathless. “Or what?”

“Or we can forget this foolishness and move on,” answers Doran, taking his hands from Jasper’s hips.

Jasper grabs Doran’s hands before he can pull them away. “No way.”

And, breath catching in his throat, he pulls Doran’s hand in and presses it to the bulge of his cock.

He keeps his gaze on Doran’s as he does it, relishing the sudden, electric thrill of crossing a line.


	37. Manifested

“Jasper...” murmurs Doran, half chiding, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Jasper rolls his hips, pushing against Doran’s hand. Heat shudders through him and he gives Doran a fierce grin. “This is your fault.”

“Is that so?” Doran curls his fingers around the shape of Jasper’s cock, his gaze fixed on Jasper’s face, taking in his reaction.

“Yeah,” gasps Jasper, hips pushing into Doran’s touch. “I – I was being good, you know. You’re the one who started this.”

“Ah. I’m responsible for this situation, so I should resolve it, is that it?” Doran’s voice is cool, but his gold-green eyes glimmer with heat as he brings both hands to Jasper’s belt.

“Uh – yeah –” manages Jasper, distracted. Doran is unbuckling Jasper’s belt. Jasper stands still, anticipation twisting in his stomach as Doran’s hands move deftly in the close space between them, opening Jasper’s pants, then pushes them and his underwear off his hips.

Jasper’s cock springs free, hard and eager in the cool night air. Immediately the air between Jasper and Doran turns tense and electric, sparking with that lightning thrill that comes with crossing a line.

And then Doran is touching him.

Jasper stands frozen, his heart racing, his breath caught in his throat. Doran’s touches are careful at first – his thumb running up the underside of Jasper’s cock, his fingers tracing the head of it. His eyes take Jasper in greedily.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and breathless. He sounds so pleased that a desperate heat blooms in Jasper’s stomach, and he shudders, breathing out a low, eager noise.

Doran’s eyes flick up to Jasper’s, bright and hot, and then he looks down and curls his fingers tight around Jasper. He gives Jasper a slow stroke. The tingle of power from Doran’s demon rings vibrates through Jasper’s body, and then it’s overtaken by a swell of pleasure, the way a crashing wave overtakes the one that came before. Then that’s overtaken by another, and another, as Doran’s fist picks up a deliberate rhythm.

Jasper can only gasp. His hands are still tangled in Doran’s robe, and he holds on tight, his hips starting to hitch up into Doran’s touch. In Jasper’s fantasies, Doran was all cool control, going purposefully slow just to tease Jasper. This is nothing like that. Doran’s strokes are slow, but they’re firm, like he wants to feel each stroke fully, to trace the entire length of Jasper’s cock. His gaze follows his hand, so full of heat that Jasper has to close his eyes, shuddering.

This is no fantasy, but it’s hard to believe it’s reality, either. They seem halfway between worlds, caught right inside the moment where desire becomes action. There’s a tension in Doran – his grip perfectly tight, his breath short and even – that feels like the exact balance between passion and control. Part of Jasper wants exactly this forever, and part of him wants nothing more than to upset that careful balance.

Pushing close, he presses his mouth hard to Doran’s. Doran responds immediately, his hand curling tight around the back of Jasper’s head. His hand on Jasper’s cock doesn’t slow, and the kiss is a messy one, half distracted. Jasper leans into it eagerly. Need is building inside him, shivering hot through his body, and he can’t help breathing a low groan into Doran’s mouth, rocking his hips up into Doran’s grip.

Doran deepens the kiss, licking into Jasper’s mouth, and the rhythm of his hand stutters and then builds, developing a new urgency. Jasper gasps, twisting his hands in Doran’s robe, but Doran doesn’t slow down. There’s a selfish edge to the firm pulls of his fist, like he’s chasing Jasper’s pleasure as if it were his own, like he wants nothing more than to see Jasper fall apart.

The thought makes Jasper groan, his hips pushing up into Doran’s touch. Each movement of Doran’s hand sends heat rushing through him, adding to the hot, desperate tangle of need in his stomach, and he’s already perilously close to falling apart.

He jerks his head away from the kiss and drags in a breath. “Doran –”

Doran’s hand slows for a moment. “Yes?”

“I’m – I’m gonna –”

Doran freezes for a moment, his breath catching.

And then, in a sudden rush, he takes Jasper by the hips and pulls him in tight, pressing their bodies flush together, crushing his mouth eagerly to Jasper’s.

And –

And Jasper can feel Doran’s cock, the thick, hard push of it through Doran’s pants. He shudders, his hips rolling instinctively, pushing them together. He knew Doran wants him, but it’s thrilling to actually feel it, Doran’s desire manifested into something real and physical, something that he can grind desperately against, gasping against Doran’s mouth.

Doran kisses Jasper fiercely, his tongue pushing possessively into his mouth. His hands run forcefully down Jasper’s back, pulling him close. Then they slide lower, pushing under the waistband of Jasper’s pants, under his underwear, so Doran can grab Jasper’s ass with both hands.

Jasper gasps, and Doran makes a soft hungry groan in response, pulling Jasper tight against him, his hands following the firm curve of Jasper’s cheeks. Jasper shudders. Doran’s hands are broad and warm, rough enough that Jasper can feel the friction of them on his sensitive skin, smooth enough that he can feel each cool, tingling line of a demon ring pressing into him.

Jasper finds himself caught, breathless, his pants around his thighs, his hips rocking helplessly between Doran’s hands and his body. There’s a potent urgency to the press of their bodies together, the messy clash of their mouths, the push of their cocks together through the thin layer of Doran’s pants. It feels raw and desperate, as powerful as the spirits thrumming inside them, as untamed as the demon realm around them.

It’s too much. Jasper is already overwhelmed, burning up at the feeling of Doran’s desire, and the rough friction of his cock against Doran’s body is more than enough to push him to the edge. He can feel it, his breath catching, his body tensing.

He’d warn Doran, but he can’t manage anything but a low groan. And then the groan is cut off, because Doran squeezes his ass so hard that he’s pulled up onto his toes, gasping, his cock pressed between their bodies. And it’s too late. He’s coming, as hard as he’s ever come before, all up the front of Doran’s white shirt.

Doran goes still, holding Jasper tight against him as Jasper shudders through wave after wave of pleasure.

They stay frozen like that for a long time, pressed so close that Jasper can feel the eager stutter of Doran’s breath, until the last pulse of pleasure spills from Jasper. Then, finally, Doran moves his hands, and Jasper settles back onto his heels, breathing out a low, “ _Fuck_.”

Doran’s lips curl into a smile. “Indeed.”

There’s a breathless edge to Doran’s voice. Looking at him, Jasper can see tension lingering in Doran’s body, desire burning hot in his eyes. He feels a slow shiver run through him.

He never thought he’d see Doran like this – flushed, brown hair falling in his eyes, his shirt messy with come and his cock hard and obvious in his pants. He looks debauched, nothing like the cool-eyed Master Doran that Jasper met in Aethon.

But at the same time, he’s exactly like that Doran. The power and grace of his body are only heightened like this, the cool force of his control even more obvious as he lets his eyes slide down Jasper’s body. When his eyes jump back to Jasper’s, the lightning-sharp challenge of his gaze feels as charged as ever.

Even now, Jasper can’t help his instinctive reaction to Doran – half an urge to defy him, and half to give in, to roll over and show his stomach.

Both impulses spark hot anticipation in his veins as he gives Doran a wicked grin and sinks to his knees in the grass.


	38. Risks

When he was younger, Jasper used to imagine being an explorer, a conqueror of unexplored lands. This moment with Doran feels something like that – one heart-pounding step into the unknown after another, and Jasper pressing ahead as confident as a conqueror, giving Doran a fierce grin as he gets to his knees in the dark Deimos grass.

“Jasper...” murmurs Doran, low, his hand finding Jasper’s head and palming over his short-cropped hair. The raw need in his voice shudders through Jasper, who swallows hard. His gaze drops inevitably to Doran’s cock – right in front of him now, the full shape of it obvious through Doran’s pants.

The air between them feels thick and hot with anticipation. There’s no way they can ever go back from this, thinks Jasper. No way he’ll ever be able to forget the weight of Doran’s cock in his mouth once he’s tasted it. Want sharpens inside him, half ache and half pleasure.

Doran lets out a rough breath, his hand tightening on Jasper’s head, and brings his other hand up to his belt. He pulls open his belt one-handed, then his pants, deft and efficient. Jasper leans in eagerly, but Doran holds him where he is until he can pull out his cock.

Doran’s cock. Exposed, it looks even bigger than it did under his clothes, the shaft thick and straight, the head full, flushed dark. The sight sends heat rushing through Jasper like wine spilled over white cloth.

He swallows thickly, drags his gaze up to look at Doran. Their eyes catch and hold. And then Doran takes a quick, rough breath and pulls Jasper gently in, and with his other hand, tilts his cock down towards Jasper’s mouth.

Jasper opens his mouth, eager, his heart drumming in his chest.

And that’s when they’re attacked.

Something smacks into Jasper’s back. He yells, jerking away from Doran. He can feel something clinging to his back, pulling on his robe as it climbs up toward his head, and he swipes at it, gasping. His hand hits something cold and hard, knocking it away.

He twists to see it. He spots the glowing adamant first, in the center of a round body as wide and hard as a dinner plate. Then the demon pushes itself upright on eight long, articulated legs. It’s looking around, disoriented, its four eyestalks turning, its mouth – a complex set of interlocking mandibles – moving angrily.

Jasper shudders. He brings his hands in front of him, trying to focus enough to cast magic. But he’s never practiced spirit magic while kneeling on the ground, his pants still tangled around his thighs, and it’s hard to center himself. His spirit feels strangely distant, a faint thrum of energy easily drowned out by the pound of his heart.

The demon’s round black eyes find Jasper, and a set of translucent wings shuffle out from under its shiny gray carapace. It bends its spindly legs in preparation.

Jasper backs away instinctively, trying to get to his feet. But he stumbles and ends up back on the ground. The demon is already launching itself at him, wings a silent blur, clawed legs extended.

Jasper flinches, but a short burst of white light slams into the demon, knocking it to the ground. Above Jasper, Doran has shifted easily into the second spell form. Jasper watches, breathless, as he sends two more bursts of magic at the demon, until it’s nothing but smoke.

Silence follows.

“Thanks,” offers Jasper.

“Get up,” says Doran tightly. “There might be more.”

Jasper stumbles to his feet next to Doran. He steadies his stance and tries to get ahold of his spirit to prepare for an attack. But it’s so low. Reaching for it feels like missing an expected step at the top of the stairs. Did spirit transference really take so much out of him?

At least there’s no sign of movement around them. The demon was alone. If there is a greater demon out there sending armies after them, it seems to be busy at the moment.

“Well,” says Doran finally, and starts doing up his pants.

Jasper’s heart lurches. “Wait! I was going to...”

“I’d say the moment has passed.”

Frustrated heat burns in Jasper’s cheeks. “That’s not fair.”

“Well, perhaps we could resume this at a later time,” says Doran carefully. “Once we’re somewhere more secure.”

His eyes skip to Jasper’s mouth and linger for a moment, long enough to send a shiver through Jasper. Is Doran thinking of what just almost happened? Is he about to kiss Jasper, to seal this promise for a later time?

“Yeah?” says Jasper, taking a step forward.

But Doran’s eyes cut sharply away. They land on the dull red adamant that the demon left behind, and he tells Jasper sternly, “Compromising factors aside, I’m disappointed that you weren’t more capable in defending yourself. The demon realm demands constant alertness.”

Jasper frowns at him. “Well, if you have to know, I think something went wrong with the spirit transference. My spirit is really low.”

Doran looks confused for a moment, and then his lips press into a tight line. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I doubt that was the spirit transference.” Doran takes a careful breath. “If you’ll recall, current theory equates spirit power to life force. And, as it turns out, life force can be... emitted through functions other than bleeding.”

It takes Jasper a moment to get what kind of emission Doran is talking about, and then he can’t help laughing. “What, really?”

He remembers talking to Tris about sex in Deimos, teasing Tris by insisting he and Doran are going to do it. He can only imagine how red Tris would turn if he learned of this particular piece of demon realm trivia.

Doran looks less amused. “I’m afraid so. I apologize, Jasper. If I had remembered that consequence, I wouldn’t have acted so hastily.” There’s a sharp edge of regret to his words. “This was entirely foolish of us.”

Jasper shakes his head. He’s still tingling from what happened earlier, still breathless at what’s been promised for the future. “It was definitely worth it.”

Doran’s eyes linger on Jasper’s for a moment, hot and unreadable, and finally he says sternly, “Taking risks is never worth it.”

His gaze slides critically down Jasper’s body, to where Jasper has still not bothered to do up his pants. He reaches out and tugs up Jasper’s pants and underwear for him. “Now, let’s move on before we make any further mistakes.”

“If you say so,” says Jasper. He grins, tilting his hips towards Doran so Doran can buckle his belt.

He knows Doran well enough by now to know exactly how little Doran follows his own advice about risks.

And he, for one, is very much looking forward to their next mistake.


	39. Commanding

Mages always spend three nights in Deimos: the three nights when the moon there is fullest, when darkness doesn’t swallow everything. It’s part precaution, part ritual – one or two more nights with a nearly-full moon would theoretically be possible, but three nights is, after all, a powerful number. All the feasts of the old traditions last three nights, enough for everyone to lose themselves in revelry, to pretend for a few days that their real lives don’t exist.

Images of feasts play in Tris’s head as he lies on Veleth’s bed, naked and satiated. After tonight, he has two more nights in Deimos. Will he and Veleth do this every night, like their own private feast, sinful and strange?

Tris can’t help the warm thrill that runs through him at the thought. It’s not just the pleasure still radiating through him, but also the pure, dark enjoyment of having this secret. Nobody out there could ever guess he was here, doing these things.

He glances up at Veleth, who’s lying beside him, looking down at him. “Do… do other demons do this?”

“Hm.” Veleth tilts his head, considering. “I don’t think so. Most just kill mages and drink their blood.”

Tris swallows at his matter-of-fact tone. “Oh. Have… have you ever…?”

At that, Veleth pauses, smiling. A predator’s smile, bright and sharp-toothed, held just long enough to send a cold shiver down Tris’s spine.

“Have I ever killed any mages?” He ducks his head to Tris’s neck. Tris stiffens under him, fear spiking through him, but all Veleth does is tilt his head to murmur in Tris’s ear. “Oh, yes.” He reaches out and rests his hand low on Tris’s stomach. “But this way is so much nicer, isn’t it?”

The cool weight of Veleth’s hand on Tris’s skin feels good, but Tris can’t enjoy it. His heart is racing. He’s known all along that Veleth is dangerous, but it’s different to actually think of him as a killer. What has Veleth done in the past? And what is he planning?

Tris takes a quick breath, his stomach shifting under Veleth’s hand. “Listen – last time, did you to go to Marlyon Territory?”

Veleth pulls back. His voice is perfectly cool. “What would you do if I had?”

Ice runs down Tris’s spine. “If you attacked Jasper –”

He sits up on the bed, his heart pounding, dislodging Veleth’s hand. He’s been trying not to think about it, but if Veleth really sent the lesser demons after Jasper and Doran, then Tris can’t deny his sinister intentions. And he can’t just lie here – he should do something.

Not that he knows what, exactly, to do. There’s no chance of him taking Veleth in a fight. Maybe, he thinks, he could bind Veleth. A little shiver of possibility runs through him, and his eyes cut to the pile of his clothes on the floor, where he has spare demon rings in a pouch on his belt.

Veleth sits up beside Tris then, his gaze following Tris’s to the clothes. Can he guess Tris’s train of thought? His voice, when he speaks, is cold. “Relax, mageling. I have no interest in this Jasper of yours.”

He reaches over and trails a finger down Tris’s bare arm, something between a caress and a threat. Tris shivers.

“So – so you didn’t send lesser demons after them?”

Veleth’s hand stills. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well – my friend was attacked by a group of lesser demons working in a pack. And right before that, he saw a greater demon, so I thought –”

“You thought the _kirath_ – the greater demon was commanding the lessers.” Veleth’s voice is flat.

“Uh, y-yes... So that wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“But you know something about it?”

Veleth turns then, and smiles at Tris, tight and sharp. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, mageling.”

“No, I want to know, it’s –”

Veleth puts a cool hand on Tris’s chest and pushes him back down onto the bed. Tris falls, his breath pushing out of him.

“I said not to worry about it.”

“But that other demon – what did they want? Do you know?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Veleth’s gaze is on Tris’s body. He trails his fingers down the middle of Tris’s stomach, slow and teasing. “Let’s just say she was looking for a fight.”

Veleth’s touch makes Tris’s breath catch in his throat, but he swallows, keeping his eyes on Veleth. “D-do you _know_ this demon?”

“Mm. I’m familiar with her.” Veleth’s hand slides back up, and he brushes his thumb over Tris’s nipple, hard in the cool air.

Tris shudders at the feeling, closing his eyes. He wants to know more, but he’s distracted, too, by the sensation of Veleth’s touch, the trembling shocks of heat that are starting to run through his veins, sharper and brighter than the heavy warmth of satisfaction that still fills him.

He swallows and opens his eyes, tries to catch Veleth’s dark gaze in his. “So – is it just two of you on this side of the barrier, or are there other greater demons? How m-many?”

Veleth doesn’t respond, just pauses a long time, drawing careful circles around Tris’s nipple with a finger. Then his eyes snap to Tristan’s, deep and dark. “Tristan?”

“Y-yes?”

And Veleth reaches out and presses his thumb to Tris’s lips. “Hush.”

Heat blooms instinctively in Tris’s cheeks. He keeps his mouth shut, feeling the cool, firm push of Veleth’s finger against his lips.

Veleth smiles, pleased, and slides his thumb down, tracing a wet line down Tris’s chin. Then further, marking a line down his neck to his collarbone. Tris shivers. Is it because he just came that he feels so sensitive, so aware of Veleth’s touch? He could lose himself in each tiny movement, each inch of friction, skin on skin.

No. He forces himself to speak. “How did you cross the barrier? I – I thought –”

Then Veleth’s hand drops to Tris’s nipple, and he pinches it.

A shock of pain jolts through Tris and he cries out, a short, helpless noise.

Veleth grins viciously down at him. “Now that’s a nice sound, _enkileth_.”

Tris takes a breath, feeling heat burning under his skin, and beneath that, a spark of stubbornness. “Nnn – I just – it’s just that the barrier’s supposed to –”

“I said –” Veleth punctuates his words with another pinch to Tris’s nipple, and Tris has to bite back a whimper as a white-hot spark jumps down his spine. “– not to worry about it.”

Tris takes a shuddering breath. “I just –”

Veleth’s thumb rubs Tris’s nipple, rough friction after the shock of the pinch, and Tris has to close his eyes, gasping.

What is Veleth trying to do? Tris just came – it shouldn’t be this easy for Veleth to get him worked up. But somehow it’s working, each brush of Veleth’s fingers sending a shiver of heat through him, curling low in his stomach.

There’s so much Tris doesn’t understand, but he’s also keenly aware of how little ability he has to make Veleth tell him anything. He’s so completely under Veleth’s power, his words easily stopped by Veleth’s touch, his body tensing and trembling under Veleth’s fingers.

It’s hopeless.

And oh, that’s it, that feeling of yielding. Tris can’t help falling into it. He swallows all his questions and lets his breath out as a low moan, shifting on the bed under Veleth’s touch.

In response, Veleth twists Tris’s nipple once more between his fingers. Tris cries out, his back arching off the bed. He can feel it throughout his whole body, a shock somewhere somewhere between pain and pleasure, as hot as Veleth’s fingers are cold.

Veleth pulls his hand away afterwards, and Tris collapses flat, breathless. Veleth gazes down at him, grinning.

“Well, mageling.” Veleth’s hand settles on Tris’s stomach again and slides slowly down. “Are you going to be quiet now, and give me what I want?”

There’s only one question Tris can think of now, and he asks it even though he can already feel the answer twisting hot and impossible inside him. “W-what do you want?”

Veleth’s pitch-black eyes catch Tris’s and he smiles. “I want you to come for me again, trinket.”


	40. Untwist

Tris’s breath catches at the promise in Veleth’s words, desire sliding through him as sharp as a knife.

He doesn’t even know if what Veleth wants is possible. He came in Veleth’s mouth only moments ago, would he even be able to come again?

“I – I don’t know if I –”

“Oh, my trinket, I can make you come.”

Tris shivers at the force in Veleth’s words. He can hardly object, not when he’s already this worked up from Veleth touching him. Not when his blood is already hot with need, his cock already hard and trembling against his stomach.

He hesitates, but Veleth doesn’t wait for a response, just reaches down and curls his hand around Tris’s cock.

Tris gasps, his eyes falling closed. He’s weak to Veleth’s touch, oversensitive, so that when Veleth gives him a slow stroke, the pleasure that sparks through him has a painful edge to it. He shivers at the feeling, biting his lip.

Veleth takes up an insistent rhythm, and immediately it’s almost unbearable. Veleth’s cool hand feels good on the flushed-hot skin of Tris’s cock, perfect tight pressure, but Tris is so sensitive that Veleth’s touch almost hurts. And yet Tris can’t help his hips hitching up into each stroke, his whole body shuddering, his hands twisted in the blankets beneath him.

Needs swells hot and urgent inside Tris, and it doesn’t take long until he’s desperate for release. But as much as he squirms under Veleth’s hand, digging his heels into the bed and half sitting up as tension clenches his stomach, he can’t seem to get there. And Veleth just keeps going, leaning close, the rhythm of his fist unchanging even as Tris gasps and shudders under him.

“I – I _can’t_ –”

“Ah, _enkileth_.” Veleth presses close, dropping his head to Tris’s neck and kissing hungrily under his jaw. His hand doesn’t slow. “You’ve got more to give me, I can taste it.”

Tris shudders. He only has a small amount of spirit power left in him, a faint thrum under the pound of his pulse, but it’s still enough that he can feel it twisting eagerly at Veleth’s touch. He feels need quickening throughout his whole body, tension building in his stomach, but climax still feels just out of reach.

He tosses his head back against the blankets. “N-no – I can’t –”

At that, Veleth pulls his hand from Tris’s cock. Tris whimpers, half relieved and half frustrated, and Veleth grins his fox’s grin down at him. “Okay, mageling, I’ll help you.”

Veleth sits up, shifting down the bed. And then his hand is on Tris’s thigh, sliding underneath and pushing Tris’s leg up towards his chest.

Tris’s breath stops. The intimacy of Veleth’s touch, firm and cool against the soft underside of his thigh, is enough to kick up his heartrate, to make his body tense in anticipation of something he can’t even describe.

He stares up wide-eyed at Veleth, who just smiles and reaches down with his other hand. Before Tris can do anything, Veleth is touching him – touching him _there_ , tracing his hole with a cool finger.

A helpless noise spills from Tris. A tremor runs through his body, his knees spreading instinctively, his hips tilting up for Veleth’s touch.

Gods, he shouldn’t react like this. He shouldn’t yield this last private part of himself up to Veleth so easily. But the gentle friction of Veleth’s touch shivers up through him like a spark into dry kindling, and he’s utterly lost.

Is this how it’s always going to be, Veleth breaking Tris’s boundaries one by one? And Tris rejoicing in it, thrilling at the moment when the barrier trembles and shatters, when he falls helplessly into the darker, filthier world on the other side? He moans, low and desperate, twisting to push his face into the blankets.

“Hold still, mageling,” murmurs Veleth, pushing Tris’s thigh up with one hand as the other thumbs at Tris’s hole. “I’m going to help you.”

He moves his hand, then, and swipes at the precome beading at the tip of Tris’s cock. Tris shivers, and can’t help turning his head to see what he knows he’ll see: Veleth bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting Tris. Tris’s stomach gives a familiar swoop at the eager pleasure on Veleth’s face, the way his eyes fall closed and he makes a low, hungry sound around his fingers.

Veleth lingers a moment with his first two fingers in his mouth. When he slips them free, they’re shiny wet with spit in the lamplight.

Tris shudders, his body somehow understanding what comes next, tensing with hot, helpless anticipation.

And then Veleth pins Tris’s thigh up and pushes two wet fingers into him.

Tris cries out, a raw helpless sound. It doesn’t hurt but it’s almost unbearable anyway, the cold, strange push of Veleth’s fingers, something his body knows shouldn’t be there – and yet something his body wants, desperately, clenching eagerly around Veleth’s fingers.

“Shh, trinket,” murmurs Veleth. His voice is gentle, but his fingers inside Tris aren’t gentle at all, pushing insistently into him, slow and inescapable. 

Tris trembles at the feeling, flushing hot all over. He already knows how good it feels to yield, but this is something new: surrender in pure physical form, his body trembling open for Veleth, letting itself be filled. It’s overwhelming.

And then Veleth leans close and curls his fingers, rubbing the inside of Tris, and pleasure sparks through Tris like the star-bright sear of magic.

The sensation leaves him breathless, disoriented. Before he can recover, Veleth does it again, and the pleasure hits Tris like a blow, white-hot and inescapable, like nothing he’s felt before. He wishes he has a moment to catch up with the rush of sensation, but Veleth doesn’t pause. His fingers keep moving, gentle and precise, catching that same spot over and over.

Tris can’t breathe. He feels hot and sensitive inside, so that even the slightest movement of Veleth’s fingers makes him tremble all over. Is Veleth still trying to make him come? His cock is so hard it aches, twitching at each curl of Veleth’s fingers and drooling precome onto his stomach, but this sensation is almost too much – broad, pulsing surges of pleasure that sweep through his whole body rather than pushing him directly towards climax.

Maybe Veleth is just doing this to torture him, to fill him up with need until there’s no room for anything else, no breath, no thought, nothing but Veleth and his dark, hungry gaze.

Veleth is watching him closely. “Does this feel good?”

Tris can only moan, voice hitching as Veleth’s fingers move inside him.

Veleth’s voice is low and insistent. “I want to see you come for me, mageling.”

Tris tosses his head against the bed, desperate disagreement. He can’t. He can’t even move, can’t untwist his hands from the blankets, can’t do anything but tremble around the cold, seeking press of Veleth’s fingers. There are waves of tension running through him, like he’s close, so close, but he just – can’t –

“Come on,” murmurs Veleth, “I know you can do it, _tash-kevint mel enkileth_ , come on.”

The sound of Veleth’s voice shudders through Tris, low and eager, the foreign words strange and powerful. Veleth’s fingers curl inside him at the same moment, and suddenly it’s like something breaks, and the impossible turns inevitable.

He’s coming.

The great pulsing knot of need inside him untangles itself in a desperate shudder, and he’s coming in a white-hot rush of pleasure, trembling and tensing around Veleth’s fingers. The sensation comes from deep inside of him, like he’s spilling out everything he has, his cock drooling pulse after pulse onto his stomach. Like he’ll have nothing left after this.

“There you go,” says Veleth, triumph roughening his voice. “My Tristan.”

It’s several long, shuddering moments before Tris can breathe again. And then he can only lie there, gasping.

He’s exhausted. He feels wrung out, like he’s totally empty inside, blank as a starless sky.

It feels good.

Veleth is already leaning down to lick at Tris’s stomach, his tongue sliding in broad stripes through the slick mess of come, and Tris doesn’t even have the breath to moan. He can only tremble and close his eyes, vibrating around the hollow at his center like a struck bell.


	41. Entitled

“Close the door, please, Jasper.”

Doran’s voice is calm. Jasper obeys, turning to shut the door behind him, his heart pounding.

They’re in a small room in the middle of Rededge Tower. There’s not much here, just a round table surrounded by wooden chairs. Everything’s dusty, the chairs left all askew as if nobody has touched them since the demon wars, which for all Jasper knows might be true.

Nobody has any reason to come here. Which means that, no matter how many mages are in the tower right now, settling in to sleep through Deimos’s pitch-black day, Jasper and Doran are alone.

Just the thought sends a thrill through Jasper. Although Doran hasn’t actually told him what they’re doing here. Maybe he’s just planning a lecture. Or maybe, hopefully –

When he turns around, Doran is right there, taking Jasper’s face in his hands.

The firm press of his palms is enough to send a hot shudder of anticipation through Jasper, parting his lips and pushing the breath from his lungs, and then Doran steps closer, pushing Jasper back against the door, and kisses him.

The kiss is immediately deep, fierce, unrestrained. Jasper has been waiting for this all night, ever since Doran’s promise that they could continue once they were somewhere secure. Waiting for this, Doran’s mouth hot and urgent against his, the solid inescapable press of Doran’s body, and waiting for other things, too.

Things that fill his head even now, that make him groan around Doran’s tongue and push up with his hips. Things like what Doran’s cock would feel like sliding into his mouth, what it would taste like, the weight of it. He’s been thinking about it all night, picturing it: the thick, hard shaft, the round head pushing towards his open mouth –

“You’re impatient,” breathes Doran, pulling back enough to reach down and palm the shape of Jasper’s cock through his pants.

Jasper groans helplessly, his hips hitching up into Doran’s touch. “Been – been waiting all night.”

“Have you?” Doran’s hand lingers for a moment, and then he steps back. “I’m not sure you’re entitled to complain.”

Jasper’s hips push forward, chasing Doran’s touch. “Nnn – why not?”

“I distinctly remember you coming all over yourself earlier.” Doran’s voice is low and even, as if his words aren’t filthy enough to make Jasper shudder. Doran moves calmly, taking a seat in one of the chairs, facing Jasper. “I, on the other hand, have been waiting without any relief for a very long time.”

He shifts forward in the chair, and when he spreads his knees, the fabric of his pants stretches tight over the thick shape of his cock.

Heat spills through Jasper’s veins. “Who-whose fault is that?” he gasps, already stumbling forward, dropping to his knees on the dusty rug.

Doran reaches down to curl his hand around Jasper’s head, broad warm friction against Jasper’s scalp, heavy enough to pull Jasper down closer to the bulge in his pants. His voice is low. “Can you blame me for waiting until I could give you my undivided attention, my boy?”

He’s never called Jasper that before. The words spark something inside Jasper, a slow-motion explosion, heat swelling up through his whole body. He doesn’t know what to do with himself and all he can manage is to press his face to Doran’s lap, desperate and artless, feeling the shape of Doran’s cock against his cheek, under the open gasp of his mouth.

Doran makes a soft noise above him, his hand tightening on Jasper’s head, pulling him in tighter still. Jasper tilts his head, mouthing the thick swell of Doran’s shaft, Doran’s pants growing damp under his mouth.

“ _Jasper_ – hold on –”

Doran tugs open his belt, works open his pants, pulls out his cock. Holds it there for Jasper, tall and hard and flushed. Jasper shudders, swallowing around a hot rush of desire. For all Doran’s elegance and control, his cock looks blunt, unsubtle, powerful. Like it can pull Jasper in as undeniably as gravity.

Doran’s hand on Jasper’s head is heavy, and all Jasper has to do is close his eyes and open his mouth and let Doran pull him down onto his cock.

It feels big in his mouth, a heavy weight on his tongue, hot and thick and long enough to push all the way into the back of his mouth. Jasper groans around it, swallowing instinctively, his tongue pushing up against the shaft.

“Jasper,” grits out Doran, and for a long moment he holds Jasper there, as deep as he can go, his hand firm on the back of Jasper’s head. Jasper trembles, his eyes closed, feeling the solid weight of Doran’s cock in this mouth, the heat of Doran’s pulse against his tongue.

Finally Doran takes a shuddering breath and shifts, pulling Jasper up. Jasper follows Doran’s touch, pulling back, feeling the friction of Doran’s cock as it slides against his tongue, his lips, sensing the shudder of Doran’s body. It feels good, but his mouth feels empty afterwards, cool after the hot push of Doran’s cock, and he can’t help sliding immediately back down, groaning as Doran fills up his mouth again.

It’s easy to find a rhythm like that, his head bobbing on Doran’s lap, his heart racing and his blood running hot. It’s easy to lose himself in it, the thrilling push of Doran’s cock into his mouth, the slick slide of it against his tongue. Doran holds still under him, so the rhythm of this is all there is: a primal, wet, messy rhythm, something that twists in Jasper’s stomach and pulses in his cock.

He’s harder now than ever, his cock straining against his pants. His whole body is moving between Doran’s legs, rocking forward as his head bobs into Doran’s lap, and the movement pushes his cock tight against his underwear. It would be uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so good, the sensitive head rubbing against the fabric, leaving a slick smear of precome.

He groans, and his voice is muffled, more vibration than noise. He’s been thinking about this for so long, and it’s exactly what he wanted, the pure intimacy of Doran pushing into him, the urgent build of pleasure between them. But this isn’t a fantasy anymore – there’s a delicious, inevitable messiness to it, the wet sound of Jasper’s mouth, the spit sliding down Doran’s cock. This is reality, filthy and physical and impossible to ignore.

And if they keep going like this, Jasper’s going to come in his pants before Doran even finishes.


	42. Messily

Jasper wants to remember everything about this. Doran had said, earlier, that he and Jasper couldn’t be together once they went back to Aethon. Jasper can’t quite believe that, especially now, in the heat and thick of it, but still – the threat is enough to make him want to cling to this as hard as he can.

He wants to be able to remember all of this later: the full weight of Doran’s cock on his tongue, the silk-soft friction of it against his lips, the rhythmic push of it echoing through his whole body. The stillness of the small room around them, broken by the wet sound of Jasper’s mouth and Doran’s sharp, even breathing.

Gods. Jasper’s squirming, gasping around Doran’s cock, wondering if he’s going to come in his pants from the thrill of this, but Doran’s breathing is still steady, his body unmoving, like he’s barely affected. 

Jasper shifts, tilting his head to look up at Doran. Doran is tense, his eyes closed, color high on his cheeks. His only reaction when Jasper sucks him in deeper is a sharp inhale.

Jasper’s rhythm stutters. Doran opens his eyes, and Jasper is struck by the heat of them, the brilliant, arresting green. “Don’t stop,” says Doran, his voice rough, his hand sliding warm over the back of Jasper’s head.

Jasper gives a muffled groan of agreement, an eager shudder running through him. He closes his eyes and redoubles his efforts, keeping his lips tight around the spit-wet length of Doran’s cock, letting his tongue curl around the thick shaft. It’s easy to lose himself in this again, the slick rhythm of it, the heat it sparks in his veins.

After a moment, Doran murmurs, “That’s it,” his voice warm. The words send a hot shudder all the way through Jasper. He keeps going, as hard as he can, sucking eagerly.

He can hear Doran’s breathing getting ragged, now, feel Doran’s body shifting and tensing. It makes him desperate, the thought that he’s making Doran feel good, that he’s doing what Doran wants.

“Ah,” breathes Doran. “That’s right, my boy, come on –” And Jasper moans helplessly around Doran’s cock. His heart is banging against his ribs, his cock aching in his pants, and all he can think about is this, the fast, wet slide of Doran’s cock into his mouth.

“ _Jasper_ ,” grits out Doran. Like he wants something specific, but Jasper doesn’t know what so he just keeps going, the same wet, messy rhythm, until Doran says with forced, desperate steadiness, “I’m going to come in your mouth, Jasper.”

Heat surges through Jasper, almost unbearable. He gasps and pushes his head into Doran’s lap, taking Doran in as far as he can. And Doran’s hand flexes against the back of Jasper’s head and he breathes out in a rush because he’s coming, his cock pulsing against Jasper’s tongue, spilling hot into Jasper’s mouth.

After what Doran said about spirit power, Jasper half expects to taste power tingling against his tongue, but it’s just come, salty and thick. He swallows and swallows, shuddering eagerly.

Finally Doran lets out a low grown, and Jasper pulls slowly off and looks up.

Doran’s looking at him with his eyes blown dark and dazed, his cheeks flushed. Jasper wants nothing more than to kiss him, so he does, pushing to his feet and sitting on Doran’s lap on the chair.

Doran lets out a huff of breath as Jasper settles on his lap, his hands finding Jasper’s waist, and meets him when Jasper leans in to kiss him. It’s a brief, messy kiss, both of them breathing hard. Then Jasper pulls back.

“So… was that okay?”

“You know very well it was okay.” Doran settles his hands on Jasper’s thighs. “But since you want to hear me say it – it was wonderful, Jasper, thank you.”

Warmth curls through Jasper, and he grins. “Okay, good.”

“Now...” Doran lets his gaze drop to their laps, where Jasper’s cock is standing up hard and obvious between them.

It feels like Jasper’s been desperately hard all night. “Fuck, yeah,” he gasps. “Can I –?” He reaches down and starts pulling at his belt.

“Go on,” says Doran, and keeps his hands on Jasper’s thighs as Jasper tugs open his pants and pulls out his cock.

He shivers at the air against his bare skin, and has to squeeze the base of his cock, gasping. He hears Doran take a sharp, eager breath, his gaze tracing the length of Jasper’s cock, and then Doran reaches out and curls a hand around it.

Jasper groans. Doran starts stroking him with slow, tight pulls, and Jasper has to close his eyes, shuddering. Need is already running hot through his veins, and Doran’s warm, tingling touch feels overwhelming. But Doran keeps his rhythm slow, like he can feel how close Jasper is and wants to draw this out as long as possible.

Jasper rocks forward on Doran’s lap. “I thought about this, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Used to – to touch myself and imagine it was you.”

“Ah,” breathes Doran, low. The rhythm of his hand doesn’t change, but Jasper squirms under it, heat flushing through him.

“Did you – did you ever think about me?” The thought makes his stomach do an eager flip – Doran with his eyes closed tight, his hand around his cock, Jasper’s name on his lips.

Doran hesitates. “I… I _thought_ of you, Jasper, but I didn’t dare act on it.” His hand slows, and when Jasper looks up, his mouth is drawn into a thin line. “I knew that it was –”

Jasper interrupts. “Well, you should’ve acted on it.” He rocks his hips forward, pushing impatiently into Doran’s hand. “Would’ve been fair.”

“I suppose so,” murmurs Doran.

“Yeah, so stop _thinking_ and touch me. Please.”

Doran’s mouth quirks up at that, and he breathes out slowly. “As you wish.”

And he starts stroking Jasper with a fierce focus, building a faster rhythm, his grip tight. Jasper groans at the rush of sensation, grabbing hold of the back of the chair. He’s not going to last long like this. Especially not when Doran starts giving his hand a twist on each upstroke, sending a shock of pleasure through Jasper each time.

“F-fuck,” gasps Jasper, suddenly certain that he’s going to come if Doran just – keeps –

And just like that, he’s coming, pleasure swelling up through his body, burning white-hot through his veins. Doran strokes him through it, and all Jasper can do is groan, his cock jerking in Doran’s grip, spilling messily all over both of them.

Eventually Doran’s hand slows, and he lets Jasper go. His breath is coming a little fast, but his expression is calm as he looks down at his lap. “Well, you’ve made quite a mess. Again.”

And Jasper, warm with satisfaction, tilts his head back and grins. “You know you like it.”

“Mm. I’m not sure what makes you think that.”

“Just a guess,” breathes Jasper, leaning down to kiss Doran. Doran lets out a breath and meets Jasper’s mouth, kissing him back, slow and messy and indulgent.


	43. Treacherous

Doran stands by one of the tower’s narrow windows, looking down at the Rededge River. The moon is already slipping behind the western mountains, and from here, the river is just a broad band of darkness, flat and featureless. Doran, gazing down, imagines the churning rush of it and thinks about the danger he’s in.

It’s not the lurking greater demon or the threat of organized lesser demons that worry him – Doran’s excited to get to the bottom of those. No, the danger he’s worried about is currently sleeping on a cot nearby, his face serious in sleep, square jaw set like he’s conquering worlds in his dreams.

Just thinking about Jasper makes Doran’s chest feel tight. It’s not just desire – although Doran can’t stop playing their tryst over in his head, Jasper’s sweet eager mouth, the solid weight of him on Doran’s lap – but something riskier still: a hot, irrepressible swell of affection.

It’s just that Jasper’s so eager for affection, turning his bright grin on Doran when he gets what he wants, shivering at Doran’s words of praise. Doran can’t help the way warmth bubbles up inside him in response, like spring water swelling to fill an empty pond.

He fights to keep a level head, to hide exactly how much power Jasper has over him. But he can’t even seem to manage that. _You know you like it_ , Jasper had said earlier, with his legs spread on Doran’s lap, grinning at the mess they’d made.

A fresh flush of heat surges through Doran at the thought. Gods, he did like it. He loves it, even – how Jasper gives everything he has, how fierce and unashamed he is. How being with Jasper feels like living in a bolder, messier world.

It’s a familiar feeling.

He swallows. Even now, there’s a ghost lingering next to him, lean body arched back against the tower wall, knowing smile on his face.

Doran ignores it, turning away from the window, but he imagines Felix following him, red robe swirling as he presses close. His long hair brushes Doran’s neck as he leans in to kiss Doran under the corner of his jaw.

It’s only a memory, but it makes Doran shiver anyway. He can’t help remembering the breathless rush of those days, how bold he and Felix felt, how brilliant. How invincible.

Doran presses a hand to the spot under his jaw. He doesn’t need a ghost to remind him – he already knows how this ends. Even if this improbable connection between him and Jasper works out, Jasper will still be gone eventually, off to conquer the world, a mage in his own right and not just an impatient apprentice.

Doran’s not going to wait until then. He won’t let this dangerous impulse towards tenderness bloom into something huge and irreversible, something with roots spreading all the way through him. Something that will leave him cracked and empty when it’s gone.

No – he’ll let himself have these three nights, and only these three nights. Like cutting wildflowers for a vase, savoring their beauty while knowing they won’t last.

Decided, he leaves the window and heads towards his cot. He needs to sleep.

A quiet exclamation cuts through his thoughts. “Oh – Master Doran!”

Doran looks up. Jasper’s roommate, Tristan, is paused in the entrance to the dormitory, like he’s surprised to see anyone still awake.

“Good evening, Tristan. Running late?” Outside the window, the sky’s not completely black yet, but it’s dangerously close.

“Um, yes.”

“Everything all right?” Doran draws closer to Tristan, his voice low to avoid disturbing anyone else in the room.

“Yes, fine,” mumbles Tristan.

Doran looks at him. Tristan looks more flustered than ever, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, his curly hair mussed. He was the one who ran into the greater demon last month – could something else have happened tonight?

After a moment under Doran’s scrutiny, Tristan volunteers, “I – I got a little lost, I guess.”

“Hm. You’re a fourth-year. I would hope you would know Tallowell territory better by now.”

Tristan flinches. “I know. I just – I was thinking about something else.”

“But you didn’t encounter any strange demon activity?”

Tristan shakes his head. “No.”

Doran pauses. He and Tristan have worked together over the past month, researching demon behavior, and he’s well aware of Tristan’s competence. This seems out of character. Is Tristan hiding something? Was he more affected by the encounter last time than he’s been letting on?

Tristan’s eyes cut away from Doran. “Well. Good night, Master Doran.”

He tries to move past Doran, but Doran takes his arm. Tristan starts.

“Tristan, listen. If anything is troubling you, I hope you won’t hesitate to tell me about it.”

Tristan’s big brown eyes go even bigger, and he swallows. “Okay.”

“Or if not me, someone else. We’re all invested in your success as a mage, you know.”

“Right. Thank you. I’m – I’m fine.”

“Okay,” says Doran, letting go of Tristan. He tells himself that if something serious were going on, Tristan wouldn’t conceal it – he’s too smart for that. “Well, good night, Tristan.” 

-

Doran wonders if he should try talking to Tristan again after they’ve rested, but he doesn’t get a chance. Tristan is gone at the first sign of moonlight outside. And Doran very quickly finds himself with other things on his mind.

It’s hard to worry about vague suspicions when Jasper’s so impossible to ignore, his solid frame tense with energy, a sparkling heat in his eyes. He grimaces. “Gods, Doran. I’m so full of power right now, I think I’m going to explode.”

“Well. Handling your spirit under different circumstances is an important skill.”

“Yeah, okay. Do you want some power, then?” Jasper flashes Doran a grin. He’s in his undershirt, and the tower torchlight shines warm against his bare arms. “We could practice spirit transference.”

Doran’s spirit is full as well, twisting in his chest, greedy and demanding. He shakes his head. “Now is not the time.”

Jasper, undeterred, steps close to Doran. “Or maybe there’s a better way for me to get rid of all this power?”

The force of him is like a small sun, bright and strong and almost painful. Doran wishes more than anything he could give him everything he wants.

“Jasper. It would be entirely irresponsible to give up any strength now. We’ll likely need it today.”

Jasper huffs out a breath, reaching up to run a hand over his head. “Yeah, I know.”

Doran pauses, and can’t resist continuing, “Although… I can think of some good ways to end the night. Assuming we stay on task throughout it.”

And treacherous warmth grips his heart at the way Jasper grins in response, his eyes flashing dark and eager.


	44. Curious

Tris sleeps fitfully, waking breathless from a dream about Veleth’s touch only to close his eyes and see Doran’s piercing gaze instead. Part of him longs, when he wakes, to wait and talk to Jasper – but what would he say?

He lets Jasper sleep and leaves Rededge Tower as early as possible, striking out into the thin moonlight. His instructions are to continue eastward, but he finds himself doubling back instead, following the curve of the mountain back towards Veleth’s hidden cave.

It makes sense to do this, he tells himself. While the other mages are searching for the greater demon Tris said he saw last time, Tris can gain real information from Veleth. Maybe Veleth will be more open now that he’s gotten what he wants. Last night he said a phrase in the language of demons – maybe he’ll tell Tris what it means.

Just the thought of that moment last night makes Tris shiver. Last night was so intense he can barely even think about it, but instead of being sated tonight, he can’t help aching for more. Desire waits coiled inside him like a serpent, squeezing his chest with every breath.

The thought of what awaits him churns in his mind the whole way back towards the cave. When he finally draws close, he scans the mountainside for the entrance, but he can’t seem to find it. All the rock looks the same, dark and rough, and there’s nothing distinguishable about the trees next to him, either, each reaching out the same bare, black branches.

Something moves in the corner of his eye. He turns towards it, heart pounding, ready for Veleth’s smirk.

But the area where he saw movement is empty. Just rock, stretching steeply up, thrown into stark shadows by the moonlight.

He swallows. He’s imagining things. Who even knows if he’ll find Veleth – maybe Veleth has better things to do than wait for Tris to stumble back to him. Tris sighs, stepping close to the mountainside and leaning against it, rubbing his eyes.

The rock moves under him. No, not the rock – there’s something there, a shifting patch of darkness camouflaged as a shadow. It writhes under Tris, extending long black tentacles, reaching for him.

Tris jerks away, gasping a strangled yell of surprise. But the darkness has already grabbed him, one cold tentacle curled tight around his arm. As he pulls back, he pulls the thing – the lesser demon, it must be – with him. It lets go off the rock and reaches for him with more tentacles, its flat body turning towards him, showing a fanged, open mouth at its center.

Tris lurches back, giving the arm the demon is clinging to a desperate jerk. But before he can dislodge it, he trips over a rock and falls backwards, stumbling to the ground.

The squid-like demon lands on his chest. Immediately it grabs him with more tentacles, the cold, dry grip of them wrapping around his torso and shoulders, reaching up for his neck. Is that horrible mouth already on him, teeth grasping at his clothes? Tris can’t breath. Panic spikes hot in his chest as he struggles against the demon’s grip under the silvery moonlight.

Suddenly the moonlight is blocked by a shadow. Tris stiffens, heart pounding – and then the demon is pulled off him, its tentacles relaxing their grip.

It’s Veleth, grinning a shark-toothed grin down at Tris and holding the lesser demon, his grip tight around its malleable body. It looks stunned, its tentacles twitching weakly in the air.

Tris takes a shuddering breath, torn between relief at being free of the demon and a hot rush of nerves at the sight of Veleth.

“You’re welcome, mageling.”

Tris swallows. “I – I could have gotten it.” He probably would have, once he had a moment to assess the situation. But it had happened so fast.

“I’m sure you could have. But I’d hate to see any of your tasty power go to waste on a pesky little _terevant_ like this.”

“Oh. Right.” Tris gets to his feet, his cheeks burning. What kind of demon hunter needs to be rescued by a demon? Maybe if he hadn’t been so distracted thinking about Veleth, he could have reacted better.

“Come on now, Tristan.” Veleth turns back to the mountainside, the long queue of his hair tracing an arc behind him.

The lesser demon is still struggling helplessly in his grip, and suddenly he raises his arm and dashes it against the rock. Tris jumps at the sudden movement, and stares as the lesser demon dissolves, black smoke curling through Veleth’s fingers.

He thinks, too late, that the lesser demon being caught and helpless would have been the perfect opportunity to bind it. Although he’s not sure how he would have suggested that to Veleth. His demon rings could just as easily be used to bind Veleth, after all – would Veleth have trusted him?

It’s all hypothetical now. The lesser demon’s adamant bounces towards Tris’s feet, cracked and dull.

Veleth has already turned away, continuing along the jagged mountainside. Tris follows, unsettled.

“Um. What did you call that demon just now?”

“Hm?”

“Your word for the demon –”

“Ah. _Terevant_. That’s kirallath for what you’d call a lesser demon.”

“Kirallath is the name of the language?” Tris leans towards Veleth. “Do all greater demons speak it, or are there –”

Veleth stops and turns to Tris. “You’re curious tonight, mageling.”

Tris’s cheeks heat. “I’m just wondering.”

Veleth draws close enough to curl a cool hand around Tris’s face. “So that’s why you’re here? To learn all about demons? Do you want me to teach you kirallath?”

Tris blinks. The proposition sends a thrill of excitement through him, but he can’t tell from Veleth’s pure black eyes if he’s just teasing. “Uh – y-yes –”

Veleth’s grin glints sharp in the moonlight. “It’s a tempting thought, trinket. I’d love to make you cry out in my tongue.”

Heat spills through Tris’s veins. “I –”

But Veleth presses his thumb to Tris’s lips. “But if you want something from me, then I get to take something from you.” He leans in, ducking his head to Tris’s neck, his mouth cool against Tris’s skin. Tris shivers helplessly at the murmur of his words: “And you have a lot to give me, my Tristan.”


	45. Volatile

Tris will never stop finding it strange how cold Veleth is.

Maybe he should be used to it by now, but he’s not. Veleth has Tris pressed against the wall, and he’s kissing him fiercely, his tongue cold and alien in Tris’s mouth. Tris can’t help shivering at the feeling. It makes their kisses seem potent, almost alchemical, like Tris’s blood-hot heat and Veleth’s deadly cool are two opposing substances, too volatile to mix.

Goosebumps prickle along Tris’s arms and up the back of his neck. Veleth made him undress as soon as they reached the secret cave, and now he’s naked, caught between the stone wall of the cave, cold despite that decorative fabric that covers it, and the cool, insistent press of Veleth’s body.

He shivers helplessly, and Veleth just kisses him harder, pinning him against the wall. Veleth kisses like he can steal the words from Tris’s tongue, like he can swallow any thought Tris has beyond this. Tris doesn’t try to resist. He has so many questions for Veleth, but it’s impossible to think of them now, when need is thrumming through his veins, curling in his stomach and filling his cock.

Veleth might be cold, but his body feels alive against Tris, his chest pushing against Tris with every rough breath, his hands moving on Tris’s skin, sliding down his sides and curling around his hips. Tris trembles at the touch, arching his back, bringing his hands up to curl around Veleth’s head and pull him close.

Veleth’s hair is like silk under Tris’s hands, fine strands woven through with a delicate tangle of gold chain. Distracted by the sensation, Tris lets his hands slide up, towards where Veleth’s horns rise from his head, tall and slightly curved, banded with gold.

But before he can touch Veleth’s horns, Veleth jerks away, breaking the kiss.

Tris blinks, stunned by the sudden movement. Veleth’s gaze is locked on him, his mouth drawn into a line, his eyes as utterly dark as a moonless sky. 

Tris has never actually reached out and touched Veleth before. Does Veleth not want that? Did he take it as a threat? Tris’s tongue feels hot and clumsy in his mouth. “Uh – was that not –?”

Veleth tilts his head and his expression shifts into a sharp smile. “Oh, mageling. Just because we’ve made an arrangement, you think you can do whatever you want.”

He takes a step closer, holding Tris’s eyes. And then he grabs Tris and turns him around, pushing him face-first against the wall. Tris gasps, a helpless thrill running through him at the roughness of Veleth’s touch.

He can guess what Veleth is about to do, but it still makes him shudder when Veleth grabs his arms and pulls them behind his back, tying his wrists together – not with Tris’s belt this time, but with a soft band of fabric, wrapped snugly around Tris’s wrists.

“There you go,” growls Veleth, giving the binding a tug. “You like it better this way, don’t you?”

Tris doesn’t let himself answer, but the shiver that runs through him is answer enough. He closes his eyes tight, gasping against the fabric under his cheek, tilting his hips back to keep his cock from pushing against the cold wall.

“That’s right, _enkileth_ ,” murmurs Veleth, tension in his voice, and suddenly he surges forward, crushing their bodies together against the wall, pinning Tris’s arms between them as he presses their hips together. His mouth presses wet and open to the side of Tris’s neck.

Tris suddenly can’t breathe. Veleth’s hips are pressed against him, and through the wrap Veleth wears, he can feel a hard length pushing against his ass.

A shock like lightning runs through him. “Are you –?” he gasps out, before he can think.

Veleth falls perfectly still. His breath comes slow against Tris’s neck. “Am I what, mageling?”

The words are a challenge, but Tris can’t manage an answer. He can only shudder, his pulse pounding in his ears, his body tense.

He had thought Veleth was only hungry for spirit energy. He had thought his own desire was a weak human reaction, something Veleth found amusing. But if that’s Veleth’s cock pushing against him, doesn’t that mean Veleth’s also burning with desire, as eager for the touch of their skin as Tris is? The thought makes Tris’s head spin, his stomach twist with heat.

After a heartbeat of silence, Veleth steps back. His voice is cool. “You’re just full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

And suddenly he yanks on Tris’s bound wrists. Tris is forced to stumble backwards, into the middle of the room, and before he can regain his balance, Veleth pushes him to his knees on the rug.

Tris gasps. He feels desperately exposed like this: naked on his knees, his arms bound behind his back, his cock standing up hard and flushed in front of him. His skin prickles hot under Veleth’s gaze as Veleth prowls slowly around him.

Veleth stops in front of Tris, and Tris can’t help looking up at him. Veleth’s cock isn’t obvious under his wrap, but Tris can clearly see the bulge of it, straining against the tightly wrapped layers of cloth. The sight makes his stomach do an eager flip.

Veleth’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Like what you see?”

Tris swallows, heat burning in his cheeks. Maybe it’s naive, given everything he and Veleth have already done, but this feels like a revelation. He knows Veleth is still a monster, cold and dark-eyed, but there’s something surprisingly human about his body being affected like this. Something almost vulnerable.

Veleth certainly doesn’t seem to feel vulnerable, though. If anything, he’s tenser and deadlier than ever, his body looming over Tris, his bared teeth catching in the lamplight.

“I bet you want me inside you.” Veleth’s quiet voice sounds loud in the close stillness of the cave. “You loved it last night, didn’t you, trinket?”

A helpless shiver runs through Tris at the memory of last night. Veleth’s cool fingers inside him, the breathtaking pleasure of his touch. He can’t even imagine what Veleth’s cock would feel like inside him – but he can’t help trying to imagine it anyway, the thick push of it filling him up –

He closes his eyes tight. He can’t believe he’s thinking about something like this.

But it’s inescapable. He does want Veleth inside him. He wants Veleth everywhere, Veleth’s clever fingers and his demanding mouth, the undeniable swell of his cock. Tris wants to yield every bit of himself up for Veleth to use.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel Veleth’s gaze intent on his face. “So you’d like that, would you?”

“Y-yes –”

“And you think I should just give you whatever you want?”

There’s an edge to Veleth’s voice, but Tris, dizzy with desire, doesn’t know what to make of it. “Uh – I –”

“All right, Tristan. I’ll give you what you want.”

Veleth moves, folding himself to a seat in front of Tris. Tris opens his eyes in time to catch the sharp edge of Veleth’s grin.

And then Veleth’s expression smooths into a serious one, and he nods at Tris. “Well, go ahead. What questions do you have about kirallath?”


	46. Tongue

Tris blinks. “What?”

Veleth gazes at him, dark-eyed, a hint of a smirk on his face. “You have questions for me, right? Go ahead.”

Tris’s head is spinning. He’s kneeling naked on the ground, arms tied behind his back, desire flooding hot through his veins, and Veleth wants to answers his questions now?

“I – I thought –”

“Yes?”

Tris stops, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t know what to say. The teasing arch of Veleth’s eyebrows makes it clear this is a deliberate attempt to frustrate Tris – maybe as punishment for Tris overstepping a boundary, or maybe just because Veleth finds it fun.

Fine. This is what Tris wanted anyway. He lifts his chin, tries for as much dignity as he can while naked on his knees.

“Tell me about kirallath, then.”

“It’s the language of _kirath_ – what you would call greater demons. Our native tongue, you might say.”

“But you also speak Seltaren,” points out Tris. Tris’s native tongue – which Veleth speaks without any hint of an accent.

“Also Crenian. Although I’m a bit rusty.”

Tris frowns. “Why do you know human languages?”

“Because I learned them.” Veleth grins. “You’re a student, aren’t you, mageling? I’m surprised this is difficult for you.”

“I just thought –”

“You thought _kirath_ were monsters, too busy eating mages to do anything else? We manage to find a bit of free time here and there.”

Tris falls silent. That makes sense – after all, with the barrier protecting mages’ lands in Deimos, most greater demons don’t have access to hunt humans at all. (According to what Tris has learned, going hungry isn’t fatal for demons – allegedly, it just makes them more savage.) He’s never really thought about how demons spend their time. 

And if he had, he wouldn’t have imagined it would be learning new languages. He stares at Veleth sitting in front of him, the deadly beauty of his body, his sharp features and his knowing grin. Tris can’t even imagine him sitting at a desk, bent over a book.

“So there are demon… scholars?”

“Oh, yes. There are many _rasanin_ – historians. _Kirath_ live long lives, you know. We care a lot about history and genealogy.”

“Really?” Tris can’t help a spark of excitement. A record of history from the demon point of view would be fascinating – and invaluable to Evenfell University scholarship. Right now, mages know so little about greater demons compared to the more easily-studied lesser demons.

Veleth smiles. “I should take you to Elzaren. You could browse the Sage’s Library.”

“What? What’s Elzaren?”

Veleth rises gracefully to his feet and steps closer to Tris, his dark eyes gazing down at him. “Elzaren _shentar adaman kan dravanith_. The city of a thousand gems.”

There’s a power in Veleth’s words that makes Tris shiver. He can feel Veleth’s proximity like a surge of heat over his skin, a twist in the tension still hot in his stomach.

Veleth reaches out a draws a cool finger down the side of Tris’s upturned face. “I wish I could show it to you, trinket. The Library could fit five of your universities inside. There are high towers full of treasure, and forges burning day and night to make more. I’d dress you in gold, _enkileth_ , and take you to see the Palace of Shadows.”

The words wash over Tris, a murmur promising things he can barely imagine. Veleth punctuates them by twisting a hand into Tris’s hair and giving it a tug, pulling Tris’s head back. Tris gasps, his body tensing, his arms tugging helplessly at the tie around his wrists. His head is spinning, his body responding to Veleth’s touch with a new swell of desire. He can barely absorb Veleth’s words through the pound of his pulse.

“What do you think, Tristan? Would you like to see it?”

Tris tries to get enough breath to respond. “ _Yes_ –”

Veleth pulls sharply at Tris’s hair, forcing his head back further. “Ah, but trinket, you’d be too tempting for the _kirath_ there. They’d eat you alive.” Tris stares up at him, breathless, and Veleth bares his teeth. “I’d rather keep you all for myself, _lin kel enkileth_.”

Veleth is so close to Tris, his body held tense over Tris’s, his grip painfully tight in Tris’s hair. A desperate shudder runs through Tris, and he has to close his eyes. There’s so much more that he wants to know, but all he can think about is the desire pulsing through his body. His back is arched, his throat bared to Veleth’s dark, possessive gaze, and he wants nothing more than to be Veleth’s.

But no – he still has so many questions, and Veleth is being so forthcoming. Tris can’t lose himself in the promise of Veleth’s touch, not yet.

He swallows hard and forces out the first question he can think of. “What does _enkileth_ mean?”

Veleth lets go of Tris and steps back. “Ah. That’s a secret.”

“What? Why?”

Veleth offers a vicious grin. “Because you might not like the answer.”

Heat surges to Tris’s cheeks. He can’t imagine what that might mean. “That’s not – I just –”

“Also, you’re saying it wrong.”

“Huh? _Enkileth_?”

“It’s _ki-leth_ , not _ki-leth_.”

Tris blinks. “Uh –”

“You have to curl your tongue back.” Veleth demonstrates, opening his mouth to show a flash of pink tongue between his sharp teeth. “ _Leth_.”

“ _Enki… leth_?” tries Tris. He’s aware that he and Veleth are both focused on the movement of his mouth, and it makes his tongue feel clumsy, his cheeks heat under Veleth’s gaze.

“Close.”

Tris opens his mouth to try again, but stops himself when he catches the amused curl of Veleth’s lips.

Veleth won’t even tell him what the word means – Tris is probably repeating something incredibly dirty without even knowing it.

Heat surges to his cheeks. He ducks his head, tugging fruitlessly at his arms behind his back. “Forget it.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to master kirallath.”

“Well, I... I have other questions, too.”

“Ah.” Veleth’s gaze slides down Tris’s body, as if to remind both of them exactly how naked and powerless Tris is right now. Then he smiles. “Go on.”


	47. Vulnerability

Tris takes a slow breath and feels it shudder through his body, vibrating against the low ache of need in his belly, humming against the questions caught in his throat.

Veleth is watching him with a wicked grin. Tris knows Veleth just wants to make him squirm, but if there’s still the potential to learn something valuable, he can’t ignore this opportunity.

He looks up from his position kneeling on the ground and meets Veleth’s dark gaze. “Last night, we talked about that demon that attacked my friends,” he starts.

“Mm, yes. Your friend Jester, was it?”

Tris frowns. “Jasper. He had to fight off a group of lesser demons –”

“ _Terevant_.”

“Right. He and his mentor fought off _terevant_ that were being controlled by a greater demon – and you said that was someone you know?”

“ _Kirath_. And yes.”

“And?” Tris stares at Veleth’s flat expression. “What does that demon want? What is she going to do?”

Veleth’s mouth twists. “She’s not really any of your business, mage.”

“It is my business. My friends are in danger.”

Veleth flashes a sharp-edged grin. “To be honest, trinket, I don’t care about your friends.”

“I just want to know what she’s planning. I mean, could she also want to – to –” The image is in his head before he can stop it – a female _kirath_ , dark-eyed and beautiful, pressing Jasper back against a tree, her sharp-toothed mouth finding his.

Tris’s stomach twists viciously. No matter how beautiful she was, Jasper would never want that. Jasper’s not like Tris, with this grasping, shameful darkness inside him. He’d be horrified.

“Ah. Don’t worry about that, mageling. Last I heard, Kezral likes to keep her distance.”

“So – so she won’t attack them again?”

“I just mean she won’t fuck them.” Tris flinches at the word, and Veleth grins. “She’s definitely going to attack them.”

Tris’s heart lurches. “But why? What is she –?”

Veleth cuts him off. “Listen, mageling, I’m sick of worrying about Kezral.” He steps closer, and Tris shivers, a charge running through him despite everything. “Do you have a different question… or should we move on?”

Tris closes his eyes. The thought of the demon – Kezral – is a knot of confusion and fear in his stomach, but even so, it can’t erase the lingering buzz of desire inside him. He’s still naked, after all, still pinned under Veleth’s dark, hungry gaze. His head is spinning, but his body only understands the vulnerability of his position, the tingle of the cool air on his bare skin.

He looks up. Veleth is waiting for his answer, holding himself with an otherworldly stillness, a smirk on his face.

Tris can’t say what he really wants. He swallows. “Then – one more question. How did you cross the barrier?”

“Ah.” Veleth shakes his head. “You know I can’t tell you that, little mage. You’re just going to go back to your precious masters and tell them how to stop me.”

“I won’t,” protests Tris. At crucial as knowledge of how Veleth entered human lands would be, the thought of telling Master Doran or anyone else sends a twist of shame through him. “I – I wouldn’t be able to explain how I found out.”

Veleth grins at that, stepping closer and taking Tris’s chin in his hand. “Oh, really? So you haven’t told your mage friends all about me?”

Tris flushes. “No.”

“Are you sure? That Jasper of yours didn’t get to hear about everything I’ve done to you?”

Tris’s stomach does an uncomfortable flip. “No! I – he’d be – he wouldn’t understand.”

“Hmm.” Veleth slides his hand up and traces Tris’s lips with a thumb. “This Jasper sounds like a fool.”

Jasper’s name sounds strange in Veleth’s mouth, drawn into a purr. Tris closes his eyes. “Can we not talk about Jasper?”

“If you say so.” Veleth’s thumb catches on Tris’s bottom lip, then draws a wet line down his chin.

Tris shudders helplessly. He’s been eager for Veleth’s touch all night, and despite everything, his body responds easily to the cool, teasing friction of the touch. Need swells up inside him, filling him, thick and heavy enough to drown out other thoughts.

“So what would you like to talk about?” murmurs Veleth.

His voice is low, a promise of softer, more dangerous things. Tris takes a slow breath. He doesn’t want to talk anymore. He doesn’t want to think.

The flush of his skin must make it obvious what he wants, the quick shudder of his breath. But Veleth is unmoving, like he’s waiting for an answer. Tris hesitates. He couldn’t put words to everything he wants even if he was willing to admit to it.

After a moment’s silence, Veleth smiles. “Don’t you remember the rule?”

“Huh?”

Veleth reaches out and curls a hand into Tris’s hair, gives it a little tug to turn Tris’s face up towards him. “The strong take what they want. _Verilant vas krellen tash-el_.”

Tris, bound and helpless on the floor, can barely even take a breath, much less seize what he wants. He doesn’t feel strong. He feels weak, powerless, tricked. He was supposed to use this opportunity to learn something valuable from Veleth, but he ended up with even more questions. 

“Tell me what you want, Tristan.”

Tris closes his eyes, swallows around the churn of shame and desire inside him. If only he didn’t love the feeling of weakness so much, this darkness unfurled inside him, trembling like an early-morning flower eager for the sun. If only he didn’t want so much to be touched, to be taken, to be turned inside out like he was last night.

He drags in a ragged breath. Maybe there’s a kind of strength in knowing your weakness, in admitting it.

“I – I want you to touch me,” he gasps, heat surging to his cheeks.

Veleth strokes his head, pleased. “ _Tash kel dravasin_.”

“What?”

“That’s how you say ‘touch me’, mageling. Isn’t that what you want?”

Tris hesitates, his heart pounding. “I –”

“Then say it. _Tash kel dravasin_.”

And Tris, his cheeks burning, his breath short, tries: “ _Tash kel dra- dravasin_.”

“That’s right,” murmurs Veleth, a rough thrum in his voice. He leans down, his breath close to Tris’s ear, strands of his dark hair falling against Tris’s skin. “I can give you what you want, _enkileth_.”


	48. Dissolved

Tris is caught, desire gripping him, holding him frozen on his knees in front of Veleth.

Veleth reaches out to take Tris’s chin, turning Tris’s face towards him. His smile glints sharp in the lamplight, but his eyes are open, dark, hungry.

There’s a moment of stillness, anticipation building between them, and then Veleth leans down to kiss Tris. He holds Tris’s face upturned for the kiss, as if for a benediction. Like when Tris, as a child, was forced to kneel in church and receive a blessing, dissolved holy words decanted onto worshipers’ tongues.

Those early mornings, kneeling under the painted eyes of the gods, Tris used to dread the bitter ink taste of the blessing. Veleth, in contrast, tastes like nothing at all. The kiss is like a shadow in Tris’s mouth, if only a shadow had weight to it, slick pressure and tantalizing friction.

Tris shudders, his lips parting. Veleth’s hand is tight on Tris, holding him still as he licks into his mouth. Slow, lush kisses, like a reward for how long Tris has been kneeling here, waiting to be touched.

Tris should be wary of this. He shouldn’t trust the promise built by the press of Veleth’s mouth – he knows how likely Veleth is to keep it. But he can’t help falling into it anyway, leaning up into the kiss, his back arching.

Veleth breaks the kiss slowly, letting the turbulence of their breath take up the space between them for a moment, his mouth curling into a grin. Then he shifts forward, folding himself to his knees, so that he’s right in front of Tris, and finally reaches out to touch him.

He trails his hand over Tris’s chest, fingers light against Tris’s flushed skin, brushing carelessly over his nipples. Tris trembles under the touch, his breath catching in his throat. Veleth’s gaze traces ahead of his touch, down Tris’s stomach, to linger on Tris’s cock, standing flushed and eager between them.

“You see, mageling?” murmurs Veleth, his hand sliding down Tris’s stomach. “I’ll give you what you want.” He reaches down to trail his fingers along Tris’s cock, the lightest of touches, but it’s enough to make Tris whimper, his hips pushing forward.

Veleth smiles, tightening his grip and giving Tris a slow stroke. Tris shudders. He’s been aching for a touch like this all night, and his cock feels oversensitive, full and hot in Veleth’s cool grip. The sensation resonates up through his body, vibrating against the tension in his veins, pushing a soft noise from his throat.

Veleth’s touch is teasing at first, but as Tris’s hips rock into his grip, Veleth’s fist starts to move faster. In the still air of the cave, Tris can hear Veleth’s breathing getting rougher too. Veleth lets his thumb slide through the precome beading at the tip of Tris’s cock, and Tris hears an audible catch to Veleth’s breath, something strained and eager.

The sound makes Tris shudder. He can’t help his eyes dropping, past the lamplit glow of all Veleth’s bare skin, to the full shape of Veleth’s cock under his clothes.

Desire twists in Tris’s stomach. He feels painfully vulnerable, unable to do anything but kneel here trembling at Veleth’s touch, and it’s thrilling to think that Veleth is equally affected, his desire as obvious as Tris’s.

Still, though, all of Veleth’s attention is focused on Tris, his gaze lingering greedily on Tris’s cock. Tris takes a quick breath and tries, “Um. What – what about you?”

“Hm?” Veleth’s eyes slide up to Tris’s, and he catches the direction of Tris’s gaze. “Ah. Don’t worry about that.” His tone is light but his words are forceful, punctuated by a sharp twist of his hand on Tris’s cock.

Tris gasps, sensation sparking up his spine. His hips jerk, chasing the rush of pleasure. But even through the buzz of desire, he can’t help but be curious at Veleth’s deflection.

Could it be that Veleth doesn’t want to risk losing any of his carefully-acquired power? “If you did...” starts Tris, heat flushing his cheeks. “If you… you know. Would you lose power that way?”

Veleth cocks his head, smiling at Tris’s discomfort. “I’m afraid not, mageling. It’s only you humans who go around spilling lifeforce everywhere.” He reaches up and taps his chest, where Tris knows an adamant burns inside him. “All my power is going to stay right here.”

“Right,” breathes Tris. It makes sense. A demon’s power can’t be drained by spilling blood, either – they have only shadows in their veins. It’s humans who are uniquely vulnerable to their spirits being stolen.

Veleth interrupts Tris’s thoughts, his voice low and teasing. “Why? Are you that eager for a taste of me, trinket?”

The words bring a fresh rush of heat to Tris’s face. He can’t help imagining it – the powerful shape of Veleth’s cock pushing into his mouth, the cool weight of it. It would be like the sweep of Veleth’s tongue earlier, but solid and unyielding. Like a shadow given mass enough to fill his mouth, to stop his breath.

He shudders, his whole body trembling, his cock jumping in Veleth’s grip. Veleth grins fiercely. “I knew you were hungry for it, _enkileth_.”

Without slowing the rhythm of his hand on Tris’s cock, Veleth lifts his other hand and presses his fingertips to Tris’s lips. It’s an unexpected touch, cold enough that Tris gasps, and then Veleth slides his first two fingers into Tris’s mouth.

Tris makes a soft, surprised noise, his tongue curling around Veleth’s fingers. Veleth is pushing down on Tris’s tongue, pressing his mouth open, his gaze following the slide of his fingers into Tris’s mouth.

Tris closes his eyes, heat burning in his cheeks. After his fantasy of taking Veleth’s cock, Veleth’s fingers feel strangely good. They’re cold, slender and elegant, but still forceful enough to press heavy against Tris’s tongue, to claim the space inside Tris’s mouth as Veleth’s.

“That’s right,” purrs Veleth, dragging his fingers out of Tris’s mouth just enough for Tris to feel the friction of it. Tris shudders. Veleth’s other hand is still sliding tight on Tris’s cock, a hard, steady rhythm, and the two sensations together are overwhelming.

Tris’s heart is racing, his pulse drumming in his ears and throbbing in his cock. He feels like he’s been waiting all night for release, and suddenly he doesn’t think he can wait any longer.

That’s when Veleth pulls his hand from Tris’s cock.

Tris whimpers, the sound dampened by the press of Veleth’s fingers, his hips pushing forward into the air. Veleth grins at him. There’s a vicious darkness dancing in his eyes, like a sky that’s swallowed all its stars.

“You’ve been such a good pupil so far tonight, Tristan,” he says. “There’s something else I want to teach you.”

All Tris can think about is the need twisting into knots in his belly, the desperate ache of his cock. He takes a ragged breath. “O-okay.”

“I want you to learn to come at my command.”

The words send a helpless shiver through Tris. Is that something he can do? He feels close enough to coming right now, need running through him in trembling waves of tension. He came last night with only Veleth’s fingers inside him – maybe, if he’s desperate enough, he can come with Veleth’s fingers in his mouth, the slick teasing friction of them over his lips, the obscene rhythm of them sliding against his tongue.

“When I tell you to come for me, I want you to come right then,” says Veleth, his voice low. “Do you understand?”

He pulls his fingers from Tris’s mouth, so that suddenly he’s not touching Tris at all – Tris is alone with his desire, naked and trembling and helpless.

“Do you think you can do that, Tristan?”

And all Tris can do is close his eyes and let out a low moan, a quiet sound that rises to the ceiling of the cave like a plea.


	49. Instructive

“Hold it just like that,” murmurs Doran.

Jasper grits his teeth and keeps himself perfectly still, his eyes locked on Doran’s.

They’re alone, in one of the tower’s many unused rooms. Jasper’s heart is pounding, his spirit churning in his chest, the force of it yearning towards Doran like a compass needle towards north. It courses through his arm and heats his skin where his palm is pressed to Doran’s forearm.

Jasper wants nothing more than to let go, allow his spirit to flow into Doran and mingle hot and reckless with Doran’s. But the force of Doran’s gold-green eyes holds him back.

Doran nods. “Do you see what I mean? The essence of control lies in mastering your reaction to external events. Once you do that, controlling your actions is simple.”

Doran’s voice is even, but Jasper can hear a hint of strain to it, see the quick rise and fall of Doran’s chest. They’ve been at this exercise for a while, and remaining unaffected doesn’t seem quite as simple for Doran as he’s claiming.

Not that Jasper’s going to argue the point. He’s starting to feel like he’s getting a handle on this, bracing himself against the temptation and keeping his spirit under control. He’s eager to prove he can do it. “Sure,” he answers.

“You can't allow yourself to be swayed by your instinctive reaction,” Doran says, and lets his spirit rise up to meet Jasper’s.

Jasper feels it in the surge of heat to Doran’s skin, the way the caught power in Doran’s demon rings vibrates like a struck tuning fork. A thrill courses up Jasper’s arm and spills down his spine. He’ll never get used to how the touch of Doran’s spirit feels – the strange warm friction of it, the not-quite-tangible intimacy.

His heart pounds. For a moment he’s tempted to let go and let his spirit surge right into Doran, twisting together with Doran’s like two rivers meeting. That’s exactly what happened each previous time they tried this exercise, and it felt _amazing_ , for one glorious moment – before Doran pulled away, eyes flashing.

Not this time. Jasper forces himself to ignore the thrill of temptation, the pulse of power eager to be spent. He keeps his grip on his spirit tight, feeling the tension through his whole body. For a few more heartbeats, he and Doran are frozen like that, their spirits just touching but not mingling.

Then Jasper takes a deep breath and carefully pulls his spirit back. He can feel the hot pulse of it at his core, the swell of frustration at being contained, but he lets the sensations flow through him without reacting, and eventually, the churn inside him settles.

Doran nods. “Well done.”

Jasper grins, letting go of Doran’s arm to reach up and run a hand over his head. “Yeah?”

“All that remains is for you to practice maneuvers like that until control is second nature.”

“Ah. Do we have to do that right now?” Jasper would rather have a moment to relish his success. He steps back, shrugging off his mage’s robe. The late evening air from the windows is cool, but all this movement of his spirit has been enough to make his skin prickle with heat. He turns away from Doran to toss his robe on one of the unused chairs clustered in the corner of the room.

“We certainly could,” answers Doran, stepping forward. “But there are other things we could do, too.” He suddenly presses up against Jasper’s back, his arms going around Jasper’s chest.

Excitement spills through Jasper’s veins. He grins, leaning back into the firm press of Doran’s body. “Oh yeah?”

Doran’s hands find the buttons of Jasper’s shirt and start to work them open. Jasper shivers as Doran presses his mouth close to Jasper’s ear. “I think we agreed something fun would be in order, provided you were diligent today.”

“Which I was.” Jasper tugs at his shirt, untucking it from his pants, and starts to unbutton from the bottom up. He’s already breathing faster, his chest shuddering under Doran’s touch, but between the two of them, they make quick work of the buttons.

“Although,” continues Doran, “I see no reason we can’t do something that’s both fun and instructive.” His hands drop to Jasper’s waist to slip under the hem of Jasper’s undershirt.

Jasper can’t spare a thought for Doran’s words – Doran’s hand is sliding up his skin, pushing his undershirt up to expose his stomach, then his chest. Jasper’s breathing stutters. Doran’s hands slide slowly up Jasper’s torso, tracing the muscles there, building tingling friction on his bare skin. Jasper squirms under the touch, breathless. “Sure,” he manages.

“What I have in mind is rather simple.” Doran’s hand skates down Jasper’s stomach and lingers below his navel, just above the waistline of his pants.

The warmth of Doran’s hand against the sensitive skin of Jasper’s stomach makes Jasper suddenly desperate for Doran’s hand on his cock. He shivers, his hips giving a little roll, like he can convince Doran’s hand to slide down farther.

“The thing is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said last night.”

“Yeah?” gasps Jasper. What did he say last night? He seems to recall his mouth was occupied for a good portion of the time.

Doran reaches down with both hands to open Jasper’s belt. Jasper swallows a groan. Doran’s arms are curled around Jasper, and with his sleeves rolled up, Jasper can feel Doran’s warm skin pressed against his bare sides, heightened by the cool tingle of Doran’s demon rings. He feels his cock give a little twitch, straining against his pants, eager for Doran’s touch. But Doran is very careful, as he opens Jasper’s belt and pants, to not let his fingers even brush Jasper’s cock.

Doran’s voice is low, his cheeks pressed to Jasper’s as they both look down Jasper’s body. “You said you touch yourself while thinking about me.”

He pushes Jasper’s pants off his hips, so that Jasper’s cock springs free, full and eager.

“I’d like to see.”

A long shudder runs through Jasper. He’s desperate for Doran’s hand on him, but he can’t help thrilling at the idea of touching himself under the heat of Doran’s gaze, letting the desire burning inside him run wild.

He grins, breathless, leaning his head back against Doran’s shoulder. “I can do that.”

He reaches down to curl a hand around his cock, giving himself a squeeze. Even that’s enough to make him almost moan, the sensation heightened the promise of what’s to come.

He shifts, pressing back against Doran, taking a sharp, eager breath as he starts to stroke himself. If Doran really wants him to go for it, this isn’t going to take long at all.

But before he can even complete the stroke, Doran’s hand curls tight around his wrist, holding him still. “Just one more thing.”

“What?” pants Jasper.

“I still want you focused on control. So I’m going to add one rule.”

“Yeah?”

Doran’s voice is low and firm. “Whatever you do, don’t come until I tell you you can come.”


	50. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double length chapter this time! Thanks so much for reading. <3

The challenge in Doran’s words runs through Jasper like a bolt of lightning, making his breath catch, his heart rate pick up. He arches his back, pushing back against Doran, anticipation sweeping through him.

Doran’s grip tightens around Jasper’s wrist, holding his hand still. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” As impatient as his body is for release, he think he can manage not to come until Doran gives the word. And the thought of obeying Doran’s command, winning his full approval – Jasper drags in an eager breath. “I can do that.”

“I like that confidence.” Doran lets go of Jasper’s wrist and curls his arm around Jasper’s stomach instead, holding their bodies flush. His head is over Jasper’s shoulder. Jasper shivers, feeling Doran’s gaze sweep over his bare torso, down to his his cock, which sits full and eager in his hand. “So, let’s see.”

Jasper lets his breath out in a short groan and starts to stroke himself.

Apparently this is all about control, so he doesn’t let himself get carried away immediately: just slides his fist in slow, even pulls up and down the length of his cock. With the buzz of unspent magic in his veins and the heat of Doran’s gaze on his skin, it’s easy to let himself fall into the sensation, to feel pleasure coursing through him, building a knot of heat in his stomach.

He can’t help showing off a little for Doran – dragging out each stroke, letting his cock push slowly through his tight grip. But before long, the tension building inside him urges him to go faster. Breathing hard, he arches his back against Doran, pushing his hips forward into his grip.

“That’s right,” murmurs Doran, holding Jasper tight against him, giving a little roll of his hips. Even through their pants, Jasper can feel the slide of Doran’s hard cock against his ass.

Jasper groans, his hips stuttering, his fist squeezing tight around his cock. He can’t help wishing they weren’t still dressed, that he could feel Doran’s skin against his, the hot push of Doran’s cock fitting snug against his ass –

A dangerous surge of heat runs through him. He’d better slow down. He forces himself to loosen his grip, to slow his strokes until they’re more teasing than pushing him towards climax.

Immediately Doran tells him, “Don’t slow down.”

“I have to,” pants Jasper.

“This is a test of your control. I want you to do as I say.” Doran pushes his hand up Jasper’s chest, rucking his undershirt up higher, his fingers brushing Jasper’s nipple. Jasper swallows a groan, his hips jerking. He can feel the hot rush of Doran’s breath against his ear, but Doran’s voice is cool and forceful: “Don’t slow down.”

-

“S-slow down –”

Tris’s voice comes tight and desperate in the stillness of Veleth’s cave.

Veleth pauses, tilting his head up and giving Tris a grin. His hand, curled loosely around Tris’s cock, doesn’t slow. “Why should I?”

Tris shudders, his hips jerking, trying to pull away from Veleth’s touch and push into it at once. “I’m – I’m gonna –”

“Mm… But I haven’t told you to come yet.”

“I know,” groans Tris. “That’s why – _please_ –”

“All right, then, trinket.” Veleth lets go of Tris entirely.

Tris shudders. He’s still helpless, kneeling on the floor with his arms tied behind his back. Need shudders through him in waves, leaving him gasping and desperate, but he knows Veleth isn’t going to give him the command to come any time soon.

There’s a dark part of Tris that revels in this, this yearning grip of desire that can’t be sated without Veleth’s permission. Like Veleth doesn’t just control Tris’s body – he even controls his pleasure.

Veleth’s ink-black eyes drink in Tris, trembling and flushed before him. “Now… if you don’t want me to touch your cock, then what should I do with you, _enkileth_?”

“Y-you can, I just –”

“Maybe I should fuck you.” Veleth’s smile is sharp, his voice low and teasing. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

-

“Don’t you want to just –” pants Jasper, pushing back against Doran, then forward into his own grip.

“Mmm?”

“Instead of this, you could just –” Jasper takes a breath. “Just fuck me.”

The words come out forceful, bold enough to send a thrill of heat through Jasper. Gods, they must have both been thinking about it – they should just do it.

But Doran just breathes a long, slow breath in Jasper’s ear. “Jasper...”

“Don’t you want to?”

“What I want is... not the point. This was intended to be a specific exercise.”

Jasper groans. The slide of his fist on his cock feels good, but his whole body is demanding more, the pound of his pulse in his ears, the heat burning under his skin.

“Don’t see why I can’t do the exercise with your cock inside me,” he pants, grinding back against Doran, feeling bold and reckless, wild as the storm that breaks after a long, tense summer.

He feels Doran’s sharp intake of breath. Doran drops both hands to Jasper’s hips and holds him still. “Not – not now,” he says finally.

“Doran –”

“I gave you a task, Jasper. Focus.”

But it’s hard for Jasper to focus, when all he can think about is Doran fucking him. He can’t help imagining it – Doran would be so careful, opening Jasper up with those strong, square fingers. When Doran pushed into him, it would be with so much _control_ , inch by inch –

-

Veleth would do it in one fierce push, thinks Tris. Sudden and uncompromising, like seizing something that’s rightfully yours. His cock filling Tris up all at once, pushing deep into him –

Tris can’t help moaning at the thought, his body tensing.

Veleth grins at him. “That’s right, mageling.” And suddenly he pulls Tris close. They’re both on their knees on the floor, and Veleth pushes their bodies together, their bare chests pressed tight, their thighs interlocking. Tris shudders as his cock slides against the cool, soft skin of Veleth’s stomach.

Veleth’s hand slides around to the small of Tris’s back, then lower. His fingers slip between Tris’s cheeks and tease against his hole.

The touch sends a sudden tremor of heat through Tris, and his voice spills out in a whimper. It feels strange and forbidden to be touched there, but his body welcomes it, his knees spreading on the carpet, his body leaning into Veleth so he can tilt his hips back. He remembers Veleth’s fingers inside him last night, and he feels himself shiver and tense at the thought, suddenly desperate to feel that again.

Veleth tilts his head to kiss Tris’s neck as his fingers trace Tris’s rim, a slow, intimate touch. Tris shivers at the sensation, his hips jerking helplessly, pushing his cock against Veleth’s stomach, leaving a smear of precome. With his arms tied behind his back, he feels unbalanced, helpless, like leaning against Veleth is the only way he can stay upright. He lets his head fall to Veleth’s shoulder, gasping.

Veleth hums a pleased sound against Tris’s neck. “I don’t think I even need to fuck you. You’re already so close. Aren’t you, trinket?”

-

“Gods, Doran, I’m so close,” pants Jasper.

His hand is still moving on his cock, tight desperate strokes. Too tight, too fast – he’s already teetering on the edge, shuddering in Doran’s arms. But he can’t slow down, either. Not with Doran’s gaze tracking his hand, Doran’s breath in his ear.

“Well, I’m not ready for you to come yet. I like watching you.” Doran’s hand pushes up Jasper’s chest, his fingers brushing roughly over Jasper’s nipples. Jasper squirms in his arms, gasping.

“Fuck –” Climax is so close Jasper can almost feel the triumphant thrill of release already. The need building inside him is something uncontrollable, a knot of tension as bright and hot as the sun.

But Doran’s voice is calm and insistent. “ _Control_ , Jasper, remember?”

-

Tris moans an affirmation to Veleth’s question, as if it wouldn’t be obvious how close he is from the helpless tremble of his body against Veleth, the way his hips twitch back for Veleth’s touch and forward to push his cock against Veleth’s hip. The need inside him is undeniable, a swell of tension as dark and heavy as the blackest night.

Veleth tilts his head to press a biting kiss under the corner of Tris’s jaw. “I’m glad.”

“Y-yeah?” Does that mean Veleth is going to give him permission to come? Tris shudders. Just the thought is almost too much.

“Mmm.” Veleth lets his fingertips trail against Tris’s ass as he slides his hand up, and then he pulls away from Tris entirely.

Tris gasps helplessly, his cock jerking between them, desperate to be touched. The overwhelming swell of desire inside him twists into frustration, so hot and fierce it flushes his cheeks and brings tears to his eyes. “No – please –”

-

“ _Please_ , Doran –”

“No.” Doran’s voice is tight and fierce. “Restrain yourself, Jasper.”

Jasper’s so close he can feel the thrum of it in his veins, the tension gripping him in waves. He gives himself one more stroke, tight and desperate, and then he has to let go, biting his tongue, fighting back from the edge.

“Don’t stop.”

“Fuck, Doran, I have to.”

“All you have to do is keep control of yourself until I tell you to come,” Doran tells him evenly. He reaches down and curls his hand around Jasper’s, closing it tight around Jasper’s cock. He draws Jasper’s hand up and down the length of his cock, making Jasper give himself slow, even strokes.

Jasper groans, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Their combined grip on his cock sends slow, insistent waves of pleasure through him, perilously strong. He tries to let the sensation wash over him without getting caught in it, but each time it’s harder and harder. He shudders in Doran’s arms, tension gripping his whole body.

“I can’t,” he grits out.

“Just hold on.” Doran’s voice in his ear is firm. “I know you can do it.”

-

There’s a savage kind of ferocity in Veleth’s black eyes as he gazes down at Tris. “So, _enkileth_ … Can you do it?”

Tris’s head is spinning, his breath short, his attention demanded by the aching throb of his cock, the lingering echo of Veleth’s fingers against his ass. “W-what?”

“If I told you to come right now, could you?”

Tris shudders. Right now? He’s desperate for it, pleasure pulsing through him in a demanding rhythm, but Veleth’s not even touching him.

He closes his eyes. “T-touch me –” he gasps, his cheeks flushing. Should he say it in kirallath? The words are gone from his head, drowned out by the dizzying swell of need.

“No, Tristan. I want you to come at my command – without any help.” Veleth smiles at him, all sharp teeth and fathomless eyes, and doesn’t reach out to touch Tris at all.

-

Doran is touching Jasper everywhere. His fingers curl between Jasper’s as they slide up and down his cock, and his other hand slides firmly over Jasper’s chest, then down to his stomach, building hot friction against his bare skin. His body is solid and warm against Jasper’s, full of a tense, powerful kind of strength, the kind that makes Jasper desperate to do whatever he says.

So Jasper’s trying to hold on, groaning through gritted teeth, twisting in Doran’s arms. He’s trying to ignore the inevitable rhythm of pleasure surging through him, the hot, distracting sparks of Doran’s hand on his chest, Doran’s cock grinding against his ass. He’s _trying_.

But it’s too much.

-

Tris whimpers. Every bit of him wants to come, his body tensing, his cock straining up towards his stomach. Veleth’s gaze lingers hungrily on his naked body, the eager twitch of his cock, and Tris is desperate to give himself up to Veleth’s desires, to spill everything he has. The darkness inside him is howling for it, curling trembling tendrils through his body, twisting around the white-hot swell of need inside him.

But, gods, it’s just not enough.

-

He’s just so _close_.

Jasper takes a ragged, hungry breath, feeling his control slipping but trying to hang on just a moment longer.

Tris stares up into Veleth’s greedy eyes and tries to give him what he wants.

Then, finally:

“Now. Come for me.”

Jasper cries out and lets go, and climax courses through him like lightning, pleasure in a hot, desperate burst, burning through his veins. He’s coming, finally, stroking himself through it, coming messily over his and Doran’s intertwined hands.

And Tris feels it like a swell of thunder, huge and inevitable, the vibration of it surging up and overtaking him. He’s caught, helpless, as something inside shatters and he’s finally coming, his cock jerking in the air, spilling in thick spurts into Veleth’s waiting hand.

This is harder than Jasper’s ever come before, all that built-up need spilling out of him, pulse after pulse of pleasure. So hard that Tris can’t think of anything but the sensation surging through him, wave after wave of heat.

So hard he can’t even remember who he is for a moment.

-

Finally Jasper sighs, collapsing against Doran, feeling proud and decadent. This feels as good as he always knew it would, even back when he was still just fantasizing about Doran, joking to Tris about what they would do in Deimos.

Gods, if Tris could see him now. Just for a moment, he thinks of Tris. For some reason, in his head, Tris’s eyes are closed, his face flushed, his lips parted.

A shiver that Jasper can’t place runs through him.

He feels Doran shifting against him, and the warm pressure of Doran’s body brings him back to the present moment. He turns to look at Doran, grinning.

Doran’s gaze is bright enough to send a shock of heat through Jasper. He reaches up and curls a hand around Jasper’s face. “Very well done.”

And Jasper just grins at him, a satisfied heat settling into his veins.


	51. Utterly

Veleth is used to hunger. It fills him the way darkness fills a windowless room. At times, he forgets what it’s like to not be hungry.

And then he tastes satisfaction – blissful and brief, a surge of pleasure like the first blaze of a flame lit in the dark – and he remembers.

Veleth takes all of Tristan’s power, tasting it thick and sweet on his tongue, swallowing the warmth of it. The spark of it lights up the adamant gem in his chest and leaves it hot and tingling, flush with power. He can feel new strength and grace coursing through his body, obvious in even the slightest movement.

He grins, sharp and savage, as he looks down at Tristan.

Tristan’s already fallen asleep. His skin is pale in the lamplight, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. He looks worn out, his cock soft now, his wrists still red where they had been bound.

The sight of him feels like triumph, and yet Veleth still hungers.

Without the all-consuming need for power drowning them out, there are new shades of hunger demanding his attention. One in particular: the ache of it almost rhythmic, a thrum that runs through his body, demanding relief. Arousal, curled hot in his stomach and filling his cock.

He’s been hard since the first hint of Tristan’s scent in the forest, and the desire has only built since then, spiking at the easy pink flush on Tristan’s skin, the raw dark desire in Tristan’s eyes. Tristan trembling and gasping, begging to come. And then Tristan coming, untouched, his whole body shuddering with it, his voice breaking on a moan.

The hunger is potent, but it would be so easy to satisfy. All Veleth would have to do is force Tristan to his knees so he can bury his cock in the wet heat of Tristan’s mouth. Or make Tristan roll over, make him spread his thighs and turn his ass up so Veleth can fuck him, just like he threatened to earlier.

The thought is so tempting, but it feels dangerous, too. Veleth wouldn’t lose any of his carefully-won spirit power if he spilled himself inside Tristan, but nevertheless, it would feel like a surrender. Like revealing something he’s kept hidden for years and years.

No – Veleth’s not going to allow Tristan that much power over him. Tristan’s still a mage, after all. Given the chance, he’d probably try to collar Veleth with iron, enslave him and drag him back to the sunlit realm.

So why can’t Veleth stop thinking about it? The heat of Tristan’s body welcoming him, Tristan’s soft hands on his skin. Tristan seeing all his vulnerabilities and being gentle with them, his pulse-warm fingers tracing Veleth’s horns, closing around his cock.

Veleth grits his teeth. Even in fantasy, the thought of allowing Tristan power over him fills him with a hot rush of tension, something like anger.

But the desire inside him is unrelenting, buzzing in his veins and aching in his cock. He can’t yield to the kind of thing he was just thinking about – that dangerous pull towards tenderness, towards giving pieces of himself to Tristan. But he needs something.

Maybe if he does it right, he can take satisfaction from Tristan and not give up a thing in return. Maybe he _should_ do it, to prove that Tristan is entirely his, to use as he wishes.

The thought sends a desperate rush of anticipation through him. He tugs off his wrapped _seresh_ with a few short movements, and his cock jumps up against his stomach, hard and eager.

He leans over the bed and seizes Tristan’s arms, forcing them above his head. Tristan wakes up at that, a soft confused sound pushing from him, and blinks up at Veleth.

Veleth shifts to straddle Tristan’s chest, leaning forward to pin Tristan’s wrists to the bed. “Oh,” breathes Tristan, a deep flush spreading over his cheeks. In this position, Veleth’s cock is right in front of Tristan’s face, and Tristan’s gaze lingers on it, wide-eyed.

“Just one more thing, mageling,” Veleth tells him, grinning. He shifts Tristan’s wrists so he can pin them to the bed with one hand and grabs Tristan’s chin with the other.

Tristan’s eyes flick up to Veleth’s, wide and dark and eager already, and he lets Veleth pull his mouth open. So that when Veleth rolls his hips forward, he can push his cock into Tristan’s mouth.

Tristan’s mouth is hot, thrillingly hot, like the shock of stepping into a steaming bath. Veleth shudders at the feeling of it, rocking his hips down, thrusting into Tristan’s mouth in one fierce movement.

Tristan makes a helpless sound around the push, his eyes falling closed, his tongue curling against Veleth’s cock. He’s pinned like this, trapped by the weight of Veleth on top of him. Veleth can feel Tristan gasp around his cock, can feel Tristan’s body tremble under his.

“That’s right,” gasps Veleth, rolling his hips to push his cock down into Tristan’s mouth. The pure heat of Tristan’s mouth makes his cock feel hot and sensitive, makes the wet slide of Tristan’s lips and tongue around him echo through his whole body. It’s intoxicating.

He was worried he’d be giving something up if he did this, but all he’s doing is taking. Tristan is so utterly _his_ , pinned and helpless, breathing in small, cut-off moans. Veleth grins, his breathing coming fast. He shifts forward so he can brace both hands on the bed and snap his hips downward, hard thrusts that push his cock deep into Tristan’s mouth, the rhythm building and building.

Tristan moans brokenly under him, his eyes closed tight. He reaches up – Veleth’s not holding his wrists anymore – and clutches at Veleth’s thighs, like he’s desperate for something to hold onto.

The touch burns hot on Veleth’s skin, and Veleth stiffens. It feels intimate, Tristan’s soft hands on the backs of Veleth’s thighs. His grip pulling Veleth in, like Tristan’s trying to take something from him. Like Tristan’s eager for him to fall apart.

Like this isn’t something Veleth is doing to Tristan, but something they’re doing together.

Veleth jerks away, pulling back so his cock slides wet from Tristan’s mouth. He seizes Tristan’s wrists, drags them up. “What are you doing?”

Tristan blinks up at him, his face twisting through a series of expressions – open-mouthed surprise, a flinch of fear, confusion. “I –”

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Tristan swallows, and something intent flashes through his soft brown eyes. “W-why can’t I?”

Veleth bares his teeth. “Because I said so, mage.”

And he surges forward, crossing Tristan’s wrists over his head again and holding them to the bed. Tris flinches, but then his gaze slips down to Veleth’s cock, and he drags in a breath, his lips parting.

But Veleth doesn’t push into Tristan’s mouth again. He just reaches down and curls his hand tight around his own cock.

He strokes himself in quick, firm jerks, leaning his weight on Tristan’s wrists until Tristan lets out a little gasp of pain. Tristan is trembling under him, his breath coming in short desperate gasps, his eyes on Veleth’s cock like he’s hungry for it.

“ _Tash-kevint enkileth_ ,” gasps Veleth, grinning fiercely. He’s breathing hard, his body tense, braced over Tristan. His hand is cold compared to Tristan’s mouth, but his cock is still slick with spit, and it’s easy to push himself to the edge.

The pleasure surging through him vibrates against the other hungers still lurking inside him, and for a moment, a fierce urge grips him to drop his head and bite Tristan, to taste the hot, sweet spill of Tristan’s blood and sate himself completely in one desperate rush.

But Veleth is used to hunger, and he resists the urge.

He comes with his teeth gritted and his fist tight around his cock, spilling in slick stripes onto Tristan’s face.

The sight steals his breath – his come pulsing messily over Tristan’s flushed skin, over his delicate features. Tristan gasps, and Veleth’s come spills over his open mouth, pooling on his pink tongue.

Veleth lets out a strangled groan, low and triumphant.

It’s obvious now that Tristan is his – as blatant as the slick shine of come in the lamplight.


	52. Indication

South of the Rededge River, the land spreads flat and marshy. The trees grow squat and twisted, and the earth shines wet between patches of scrubby grass. It’s unappealing, even for Deimos – but Jasper grins at the sight of it anyway, like it’s the king’s own golden carpet unrolling before his feet.

This is his last night in the demon realm, and he has the feeling it’s going to be a good one.

After all, the last night of the previous trip was when the demon pack attacked, and that ended in a triumphant victory for Jasper and Doran. Now, Jasper’s stronger than ever, more in control of his power, and he and Doran are closer than ever. All they’re missing is a demon or twenty to soundly defeat.

Jasper’s spirit thrums eagerly in his chest at the thought, and he looks over at Doran. Doran’s expression is neutral, focused on the path ahead, his face calm and handsome in the moonlight. When he glances over at Jasper, though, their gazes catch and spark like flint against steel.

Warmth rushes through Jasper. He met Doran’s challenge last night – what might Doran have him do tonight? Surely, he thinks, they’ll want to reward themselves for the epic demon battle he’s already imagining will occur. Surely they’ll find a new way to enjoy the thrill of being here, the potent connection of spirit transference.

Jasper grins at Doran, so busy imagining the possibilities that he steps directly into a wet patch of mud. He starts as his shoe sinks in with a squelch.

A slight hint of amusement quirks the corner of Doran’s mouth, and he looks forward, his voice is cool as he advises, “Watch your step.”

Jasper’s in too good a mood to be embarrassed. He pulls free of the mud and takes refuge on more solid ground. But his eye is caught by a shadow in the mud, not far from where he stepped – a wide pawprint, tipped with wicked claws.

“Doran, look.” There’s a trail of prints beyond this one, set deep into the mud. The lesser demon who left them must be a large one.

Doran lets Jasper take the lead as they follow the prints over the muddy earth and around the twisted roots of trees. Excitement buzzes in Jasper’s veins. Hunting a powerful demon is exactly the kind of adventure he expected to find tonight.

“We should be cautious,” Doran tells him as they move quietly across the flat plain, following the demon’s trail. “Based on what we’ve seen so far, we can’t rely on our existing assumptions of demon behavior.”

“Right.” Last time, fighting a single demon ended with them surrounded by an entire pack. Jasper’s not going to fall for the same trick twice – although for the moment, there’s no sign of other tracks besides these.

As they leave the river behind, the marshy land becomes drier and grassier, rolling with gentle hills. The tracks grow harder to see, then stop. Jasper pauses. Could the demon be nearby? Even under the full moon, shadows linger thick enough under the trees to obscure a lesser demon.

But it’s unlikely that the demon is lurking nearby – it would have already scented Jasper and Doran and attacked them, right? It must have continued on. He peers at the ground, aware of Doran’s gaze on him. There must be _some_ indication of where the demon went –

A rumbling growl cuts into the still night air.

Jasper whirls, looking for a sign of movement, a shadow within shadows – but nothing moves around him.

Until something moves _above him_. He jerks his head up, just in time to see the demon pouncing from the branches of a tree, fangs glinting in the moonlight, claws extended.

Jasper flinches away, but he’s not fast enough. The demon lands on top of him, wide paws slamming into his chest, fanged mouth reaching for this throat.

“Jasper!”

At Doran’s voice, the demon’s head whips up to look at him. Jasper takes the chance to shove it off him, his hands finding cold, soft fur. The demon’s claws catch on his robe, but he manages to roll free.

The demon growls, but when Jasper jumps to his feet, it draws back, triangular ears pressed back against its head. Jasper glances at Doran, grinning, his heart racing with an electric mix of fear and excitement.

Doran gives him a sharp look. He’s carefully holding a neutral stance, his hands at his sides – ready to intervene, but not doing it yet.

Good. Jasper steps into first form as he turns back to the demon. It’s crouched low the ground, its black eyes moving warily between Jasper and Doran, its long tail twitching. Its flat face is pulled into a snarl, showing two long fangs.

Jasper instinctively raises his hands to blast it away. His spirit, hot and riotously full in his chest, surges immediately down his arms – but he catches himself before he casts any magic.

He shouldn’t rush into first form. He can feel Doran’s eyes on him, and that’s enough to send a thrill of determination through him. He’s going to do this right.

He shifts sideways, switching to second form, pointing two fingers at the demon. He drags in a breath – he has to aim this correctly to immobilize the demon –

In a sudden burst of movement, the demon springs from its crouch, leaping for Jasper. Jasper has to scramble aside, dropping his stance. The demon lands beside him, claws digging into the earth, and whirls to face him, growling.

Jasper gasps and raises his arm again, planting his feet firmly, his left hand reaching back for balance. He needs time to aim, but he doesn’t have it – all he can do is let his spirit surge down his arm and burst from his fingers as bright white lightning.

The demon flinches away, and the magic goes wide, cutting a jagged path through the air. Jasper grits his teeth.

“Again,” says Doran, and Jasper nods. The demon is wary now, hunched low, dark fur rippling in the moonlight as its muscles tense.

Jasper breathes in, feeling the eager pulse of his spirit, the anxious thrill of anticipation. And then he breathes out, letting those sensations flow through him, focusing only on his power and the path it will take.

This time the crackling bolt hits the demon head on. The demon is thrown back by the force, lands and rolls on the ground, white sparks jumping over its fur. Then it lies still, alive but trailing thick black smoke.

Excitement rushes through Jasper. “Should I bind it?”

Doran’s eyes catch on Jasper’s, too bright to read. “This could be a good opportunity.”

“Okay.” Jasper seizes a demon ring from his belt and steps closer to the demon.

The demon is immobile, stunned by the magic, but its black eyes watch Jasper as he approaches and its ears twitch angrily. Like this, Jasper can see its adamant, set at the crown of its head so that its two horns, which sprout from its forehead and stretch back, curve around it. The gem is large and deep red.

A prickle of anticipation crawls along Jasper’s skin. This might be a lesser demon, but it’s holding a lot of power.

The demon moves suddenly, swiping at him with its knife-edged claws – it’s still stunned enough that the attack is clumsy, but it sets Jasper’s heart pounding anyway. He takes a breath, trying to calm the hot rush of excitement inside him, trying to focus. He has to take action, but he can’t risk destroying the demon, not now when the promise of binding it is within reach.

Shifting, he brings his hands together into the third form, and then releases them, aiming a brief burst of magic at the demon.

The magic disintegrates the demon’s back legs, leaving only a shadow that quickly dissolved into smoke. It yowls as smoke pours from the wound.

Jasper swallows hard. Stepping closer, he opens the simple metal ring. He’s practiced the words enough that they come automatically: “With this ring, I bind your body to my control. With these words, I bind your spirit to my command.” The iron ring starts to glow warm in his hand. “Grant me your loyalty from now until death.”

And, heart racing, he bends and closes the ring around the demon’s neck.


	53. Encircle

The demon glares up at Jasper, its eyes dark and fathomless, and Jasper wonders for a second if the binding is going to work.

And then a shudder runs through the demon, transforming it into a shape of pure shadow. For a moment, the shadow holds the demon’s shape, adamant gem glowing on its head, demon ring locked around its neck, and then it starts to shift. The mass of darkness swirls inwards and flows into the demon’s adamant like liquid into a drain.

Jasper steps back, his breath catching. The demon ring around the demon’s neck starts to twist in midair, passing easily through the shadow that used to be the demon’s body. As the last traces of shadow stream into the adamant, the demon ring moves to encircle the gem, then spins faster still, splitting into multiple strands that braid together to form a thick cuff.

The entire process takes only a moment, and then the ring tumbles onto the dark grass, the metal shining darkly in the moonlight, the inset adamant burning brightly.

Jasper picks it up. It’s warm in his hand, tingling sharply with trapped power.

A rush of triumph surges through him. His heart pounding, he slides the demon ring over his left hand. It tightens to fit snugly around his wrist, a wide cuff of braided iron that tingles thrillingly against his skin.

He turns, grinning, to Doran.

Doran’s face is calm, but there’s a hint of a warm smile at the corners of his eyes. “Very well done. That’s quite a powerful demon for your first binding.”

He reaches out and takes Jasper’s forearm, turning it to admire the demon ring from all sides. Jasper grins, breathless. The ring looks good, he thinks, wide and bold around his wrist, the tight curves of the braided metal giving a sense of grace and power.

Doran’s hands linger on Jasper’s arm. “Very nice.”

“Yeah?” Jasper drags in a breath. The entire fight with the demon took only minutes, but his pulse is still pounding, adrenaline still coursing through him. The warmth of Doran’s approval is spreading out through his body, vibrating against the excitement in his veins in a way that’s very familiar. He looks up at Doran. “So... I did well?”

The corner of Doran’s mouth quirks up, and his gaze slides up to Jasper’s. His eyes are as bright and sharp as a blade, penetrating enough to read exactly where Jasper’s mind is headed.

Good. Jasper steps closer, eager.

“I suppose if I say yes, you’re going to want some sort of reward?” Doran’s fingers trail lightly against the Jasper’s forearm.

The touch sends Jasper’s heart leaping against his ribs. “Well… yeah.”

“We’ll see,” murmurs Doran, and with a careful deliberateness, he wraps both arms around Jasper’s back.

Jasper doesn’t need any further permission. He surges forward and kisses Doran, eager and breathless. Doran pushes obligingly into the kiss, his mouth fitting half-open to Jasper’s, his arms pulling Jasper close.

Jasper’s heart soars. He feels like he could do anything. He holds tight to Doran and leans into him, kissing him fierce and open-mouthed, feeling the press of their bodies together. The excitement coursing through him seems to shift, just like the demon’s body turning to shadow – the thrill in his veins becomes denser, transmuting into something low and warm in his stomach.

After a long moment, Doran breaks the kiss, taking a slow breath. “We shouldn’t get carried away.”

“Doran, I just bound a demon. Can’t I relish my victory for a second?”

Doran hesitates a moment, his gaze lingering on Jasper’s mouth, then lets out a slow breath. “You know, you’re lucky I’m so –”

“What?”

Doran’s bright eyes flick up to Jasper’s. “Easily distracted.”

Jasper grins, heat spilling through his veins. “I try.”

“We can take a brief break. We should still remain alert, of course.”

“Of course.”

They end up pressed back against a tree, kissing slow enough to relish each warm slide of their mouths together. Desire swells hot inside Jasper, and he can’t help his body pushing instinctively against Doran’s, his hips rolling in time with the slow, indulgent rhythm of the kiss. But he’s not in a rush to push this any further – this is too nice, the deep rhythm of the kiss drowning out the frantic rush of battle and binding.

When Doran pulls away, it’s only to lean his head back against the tree, breathing out a long, shaky exhale. His eyes are closed and the color is high on his cheeks. Jasper, looking at him, feels a pleased shock of excitement. Doran may claim this is nothing but a distraction, but he’s obviously as deeply affected by it as Jasper is.

And that’s a thrill in itself – that it’s Jasper who made Doran look this way, who gets to see this soft, eager side of him.

Jasper’s heart pounds, and he leans in and presses a kiss to Doran’s jaw. Doran makes a soft sound but doesn’t object, so Jasper keeps going, kissing along the length of Doran’s strong jaw, then ducking his head to kiss Doran’s neck. He feels the shudder of Doran’s breath, the way Doran’s arms tighten around him, and his own pulse rate picks up. Being able to affect Doran like this feels like its own kind of power, as rare and precious as the demon spirit locked in his new cuff.

Doran’s skin is warm and soft under his lips, delicate enough that Jasper thinks of the mark he could leave on Doran’s skin if he kissed him hard enough. The thought makes his breath stutter against Doran’s neck. Suddenly he desperately wants to do it – to leave the shape of his mouth like a signature on Doran’s skin, a sign that Doran’s not as strict and bloodless as he seems.

An eager rush of heat grips Jasper, and he tilts his head up, pressing biting kisses up Doran’s neck and under the corner of his jaw.

Doran shudders against him, his breath catching. “That’s...”

“Mmm?”

“Ah, that’s… I… _Felix_ –”


	54. Pervasive

Immediately Jasper draws back, surprise like a jolt of ice down his spine. “What? Who’s Felix?”

Doran blinks his eyes open. “Did I… I apologize. I must have misspoken.”

“Who’s Felix?” repeats Jasper, pulling out of Doran’s arms.

“Just someone I once knew. It doesn’t matter.”

Doran’s voice is tense and his mouth is drawn into a tight line. Jasper stares at him, his heart banging hard against his ribs. Who was Felix to Doran? If Doran thought of him just then – could Felix have been a previous apprentice...?

Jasper turns sharply away from Doran, heat burning in his cheeks.

“Jasper, I’m sorry. That was a mistake. But that’s all from a long time ago. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right.”

“It was just a slip – there’s no need to take it personally.”

Jasper whirls at that, his heart pounding. “Oh? How else am I supposed to take it?”

Doran’s eyes flash, bright and impenetrable. “I’m just saying there’s no need to be upset.”

“Really? I guess I just thought you were doing things with me because –” Jasper swallows hard. “I just didn’t know you were thinking about some _Felix_ the whole time!”

“I wasn’t.” Doran’s eyes flick off to the left, over Jasper’s shoulder, but when they jump back to Jasper’s face, they’re bright and hard as steel. “I just happened to remember him for one moment, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

His voice is tense – impatient, like he thinks Jasper is overreacting. Jasper steps back, his face burning. He’s so used to chasing after what he wants, but he should have realized that Doran would always be out of reach. He should have known this would happen.

Into the tense silence between them, Doran lets out a short sigh. “You know, I knew this would happen.”

“What?”

Doran’s voice is sharp and unyielding. “Didn’t I say we shouldn’t become emotionally involved? I knew this would end with someone being hurt.”

As if this is all Jasper’s fault, for caring.

Maybe it is. Doran must have been thinking about Felix all along, that’s why he was so reluctant to be with Jasper. How stupid of Jasper, to try to wear him down and think it was some great triumph –

Jasper raises his arm to rub a hand over his head, and his new demon ring glints in the moonlight. Even that sends a surge of frustration through him. He was so proud of binding the demon, but that doesn’t make him special at all – any mage can bind a demon. He was only happy about it because he’s been struggling so much so far.

Humiliation burns as hot and corrosive as anger inside him, and he turns jerkily away from Doran, blinking out into the night.

He sees a dark shape moving in the distance.

It’s low to the ground, slithering fast towards them. A demon?

“Doran.” Jasper points. He can hear Doran’s intake of breath, feel him shift into an attack stance. Jasper does the same.

It’s definitely a lesser demon, snake-like, thick and black-scaled. Jasper swallows. “Should I –?”

“Go ahead.”

Jasper forces himself to take a breath, extends his arms into the first form, and scorches the ground in the demon’s path with a blast of magic. He lets the magic pour out of him, eager to feel the buzz of it running through his veins, sweeping away the thought of Felix for a few heartbeats.

“Enough,” Doran tells him, and Jasper reluctantly drags his spirit back. As the last glowing bit of magic fizzles out, the only sign of the demon is a dense cloud of smoke that dissipates quickly into the air.

Jasper takes a breath and glances over at Doran.

Doran meets his eyes. “Listen, Jasper –”

And then Doran’s eyes widen, and he stumbles and drops to the ground. Jasper stares. The snake demon is curled tight around Doran’s legs and twisting itself rapidly around him.

“Fuck,” gasps Jasper. Is that the same demon? Didn’t Jasper kill it?

Doran twists on the ground, teeth gritted as he struggles against the demon. He pushes a hand towards it, two fingers extended, and sends a blast of magic at it point-blank. The magic flickers weakly – it’s not easy to cast a spirit attack one-handed, without the proper stance. But it’s enough to make the demon loosen its grip, and Doran kicks it away.

“Jasper,” he pants, and Jasper immediately sends a beam of first-form magic at the demon’s head. He’s close enough that he blasts a crater into the ground underneath it, and there’s no doubt this time that it’s dead.

Something heavy and cold brushes against Jasper’s leg.

He leaps aside with a yell of dismay. How could it –?

“A coordinated attack,” growls Doran, pushing to his feet and planting his back against the nearby tree.

That makes sense. The demon that just touched Jasper is as large and snakelike as the others, but there’s a gray tone to its sharp-edge scales. Jasper sends a bolt of magic at it, but it’s already slithering away, curving around to double back, and he misses it.

From the corner of his eye he sees another – no, at least two other dark shapes winding their way around trees and through bushes.

Doran lunges forward and grabs Jasper’s hand. “Jasper, let’s –”

“Okay.” Jasper’s spirit is already running hot under skin, and it’s easy to bring it down his arm to where Doran’s hand is tight and warm around his.

Doran’s spirit meets him, curling around his and drawing them both into Doran. Doran takes a deep breath and then starts aiming bolts of magic at the approaching demons.

Despite everything, Jasper can’t help thrilling at this. His body is vibrating in time with the magic running through him, and his heartbeat matches Doran’s. As Doran picks off the multiple demons that approach, a warm swell of rightness builds inside Jasper.

Whatever Doran and Felix shared, it can’t have been this. Didn’t Doran say that Jasper is unusually powerful? Surely this feeling belongs to Doran and Jasper alone – this subtle but pervasive connection that makes their breathing fall in sync, that builds a weapon of their power as precise and potent as a blade.

As soon as the last demon is reduced to smoke, Doran clears his throat and pulls his hand from Jasper’s.

Jasper turns to him, his heart pounding. Surely now Doran will have to admit that Jasper is different – special in a way that Felix isn’t.

Doran hesitates, a shadow flickering over his calm expression like clouds across a spring sky. And then his mouth draws into a tight line and his eyes jump away from Jasper’s. “I’m sorry, Jasper. Clearly I’ve let things go on too far.”

His voice is sharp as a reproach, and Jasper’s heart lurches. “Doran –”

But he’s interrupted by a new voice that cuts through the darkness. “And here I thought Evenfell mages were supposed to be hard to sneak up on.”

It’s a feminine voice, low and silky, but loud enough to carry through the still air. Slightly accented, the vowels tight and the r’s liquid. Jasper and Doran whirl.

A figure with two long horns arching from her head stands watching them, leaning back against a tree, teeth bared in an easy grin.


	55. Finality

Jasper’s heart skips in his chest.

A greater demon.

She’s striking – tall and slender, wrapped in a diaphanous white dress. Her skin is almost as pale as the dress, and she has dark hair piled on top of her head, twisted between her horns, bound with gold and sparkling with small clear gems. She would be beautiful if her eyes weren’t a pure, cruel black.

Jasper drags in a breath around the fierce pound of his heart and shifts into an attack stance. But Doran reaches out and pushes Jasper’s arm down, his eyes locked on the demon. “Did you send those demons after us?” he calls to her. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to have a little fun.” The demon’s voice flows across the space between them, low and soft. “But you had to go and kill all my friends.”

Jasper glances at Doran. His expression is grim, like it was moments ago when they were talking about Felix, but there’s a forced calm in the way he holds himself. “We had no choice but to defend ourselves,” he tells the demon. “But there’s no need to go on this way. Let’s talk.”

“Ah, mage.” The demon flashes a grin, her teeth bright and pointed. “Do you really think I’m here to talk?”

And she lunges forward with a snarl, rushing towards them with long strides.

Jasper’s heart lurches, and he pushes his hands up and lets his spirit tumble down his arms and out from his palms. It’s a clumsy, frantic attack, and the demon easily sidesteps the magic, and then ducks gracefully under the narrow beam of light that Doran aims at her.

Jasper’s gaze jerks to Doran. “Should we –”

“Just hit her,” growls Doran, already aiming more magic.

Jasper turns back to the approaching demon, trying to drag in a breath, to control the rioting swirl of his spirit. But she’s already right there, close enough that Jasper can see deep into the endless dark of her eyes.

She seizes Jasper’s robe with both hands and spins him around, for a moment as if they’re dancing, and Doran lets out a hiss of breath as Jasper is suddenly between him and the demon – but the demon keeps going, shoving Jasper away from her. She’s far stronger than her slim frame suggests, and Jasper is thrown through the air and lands hard on the ground.

Gasping, he struggles to sit up and look back at Doran. Doran’s face is grim in the stark moonlight, his hands up in the fourth attack form, but the demon is too close. She easily knocks his hands down and seizes him by the front of his shirt.

Struggling to catch his breath, Jasper brings his hands together. But if he tries to attack, he might hit Doran –

The demon shifts in a sudden, powerful motion and throws Doran away. He slams into a tree and collapses to the ground.

“Doran!” Jasper scrambles to his feet.

The demon turns to Jasper, smirking, her eyes dark and intent. Jasper takes a stumbling step backwards. “Wait –”

“Your turn,” she purrs, prowling towards him. Jasper spares a glance at Doran. He’s moving, but just enough to lift his head, groaning. Jasper’s going to have to fight the demon on his own.

He has plenty of spirit left, but it’s burning in his chest like a wildfire, dancing to the frantic beat of his pulse. He needs to pause and get it under control, but there’s no time. Gritting his teeth, he shifts into first attack form, and his spirit leaps down his arms, threatening to spill out uncontrolled.

He knows he should stop to think if his handshape is correct and if he has his arms at the exact right angle – Doran would know, but Doran’s lying crumpled on the ground. And why does Jasper have to care about Doran anyway? Even when Jasper was doing his best, he apparently wasn’t good enough to keep Doran’s attention.

So he doesn’t clear his mind the way he’s supposed to. Instead he huffs out a breath and lets everything flow out of him, his frustration and anger and fear tangled in his spirit like debris carried along by a flood. His spirit surges from his palms as a wide beam, blindingly bright.

The demon ducks aside, not losing her smirk, but Jasper follows her with the magic. There’s inertia to the magical force pouring out of him, but he grits his teeth and throws his whole body into redirecting it, driving the beam towards the demon in a desperate slash.

It works.

The magic tears into the demon’s side. She howls and drops to the ground, and Jasper, his heart pounding, tries to bring the magic down on her. But she rolls out of the way and stumbles back to her feet.

Black smoke is pouring from her side, her white dress shredded and burnt. Her left arm is nothing but a trail of smoke.

Jasper stares, his heart lurching against his ribs. He did it. His pulse thrums through his veins, drumming out a rhythm of savage triumph.

“So you’re the one with all the power,” hisses the demon, her face lit eerily from below by the stark light of the magic. “You were just letting him use you.”

Jasper grits his teeth. He can feel a growing hollowness inside him as magic pours from his palms – he’s running low on power. He drags the beam of magic up towards the demon like he’s going to cut her in half.

She dives out of its path, and then her gaze snaps back to Jasper, eyes narrowed. “Next time I’ll get rid of you first.”

“There won’t be a next time,” growls Jasper, lunging forward and forcing the magic down towards her.

But he’s not fast enough. She bares her teeth in a final snarl, and then turns, her dress swirling tattered around her, and flees.

The darkness is impenetrable beyond the brilliance of Jasper’s magic, and the demon easily disappears. Breathing hard, Jasper cuts off the flow of his spirit and stares into the night after her, but there’s no sign of her beyond the quickly-dissipating smoke from her wound. She’s gone.

Jasper chased her off. He looks over at Doran, grinning despite himself. He hopes for a moment that Doran saw that, the Doran will be impressed –

But Doran’s still lying crumpled at the base of the tree.

Heart in his throat, Jasper runs over and drops to his knees next to him. “Doran?”

Doran looks up at Jasper with a grimace. There’s an ashen cast to his skin and his usually neatly-combed hair clings to his forehead. Jasper swallows hard, embarrassed somehow, like he shouldn’t be seeing Doran like this.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Doran tries to sit up, but when he moves, he hisses in pain – a low, vulnerable sound that makes Jasper’s stomach do an unpleasant flip. Doran closes his eyes. “I may have broken a rib or two.”

“Fuck – can you heal yourself?”

Doran’s eyes jump up to Jasper’s. He looks angry, or maybe that’s just pain making the gold flecks in his green irises glint sharp-edged in the moonlight. “Maybe. With your power.”

“Okay,” breathes Jasper, taking Doran’s hand in his.

He waits for a moment, expecting Doran’s spirit to meet his and guide him through this. But he doesn’t feel anything. In a desperate rush, he sends power down his arm and pushes it into Doran.

“Ow!” Doran jerks his hand away. “Not that much, Jasper, damn it.”

Jasper’s heart lurches. “I was trying to give you power like you asked!”

“Just forget it. We can go home soon anyway.”

Everything they haven’t discussed – about Felix, about the two of them, what Doran said before the greater demon showed up – sits thick in Jasper’s throat, but there’s a grim finality in Doran’s expression. All Jasper can do is nod and rises jerkily to his feet. “I’ll draw the mage’s circle.”

“Please do,” says Doran, and he watches Jasper the whole time, his gaze sharp and unforgiving.


	56. Exchange

When Tris wakes up, he’s naked and tangled in a pile of blankets, and Veleth is sleeping beside him.

Tris stares, his heart pounding. Even in sleep, there’s something deadly about Veleth: a predator’s lean strength in his limbs, threat in the sharp angles of his face. But his eyes are closed and his breathing is even, his bare chest rising and falling slowly under the golden lamplight.

Does Veleth really trust Tris enough to sleep beside him? Does he just assume Tris is too passive to take advantage of the situation?

Because, thinks Tris, his pulse quickening in his veins, he _could_ take advantage of this. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but his spirit feels renewed. He could hurt Veleth if he wanted to.

He could bind him.

Tris has to go home soon. He’ll have to lie about all of this, claim nothing happened in Deimos. Earlier, he’d justified seeking out Veleth by planning to gather information, but he’s barely learned anything – just tantalizing hints about words he can’t understand and a city he knows nothing about.

Imagine if he came home bearing Veleth’s heart in a demon ring. He could tell himself that was the plan all along – to get close to a demon so he’d get this exact opportunity.

A shiver of excitement runs down his spine. He knows what a good mage would do in this situation. Well, maybe a good mage would never have done all the things he’s done – but desire has its roots in him now, twisted dark and greedy around his heart. And that’s the best thing about this idea. If he binds Veleth, he wouldn’t have to give that up. He’d have Veleth always with him, the threat of him tingling against Tris’s skin, waiting to do unspeakable things at Tris’s command. It would be perfect.

Tris climbs carefully out of the bed and pulls an iron demon ring from the pouch on his belt. Veleth doesn’t stir, not even when Tris kneels down next to him, ring clutched tight in his fist.

This is it, he tells himself. This is why he’s been doing all this, why he let himself be used so blatantly. All for this.

He leans over Veleth, demon ring ready, but before he can whisper even a single word of binding, Veleth’s eyes snap open.

Tris draws back with a gasp as Veleth sits up, his black eyes sweeping over Tris and catching on the ring. With a growl, Veleth grabs the ring from him – wincing as he touches it – and throws it away. And in the next moment he’s on Tris, pinning him to the ground, his body arched over Tris’s, taught as a bowstring.

“You sneaky little rat,” he hisses.

“No – I – I thought it would be good,” gasps Tris.

“Imprisoning me against my will?”

Tris closes his eyes, shuddering, flushing hot with shame and fear. “Uh – if I bound you,” he tries, “you – you’d have access to my spirit. All the time.”

“In exchange for my freedom? Everything I’ve worked for? I hate to say it, but your spirit is not that tasty.”

“I just th-thought –”

Veleth grabs Tris by the hair and twists his head to the side, exposing his throat. Tris gasps. He’s still naked, shivering under the cold unyielding press of Veleth’s body.

“I should have killed you a long time ago, Tristan.” Veleth is perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on Tris’s neck. The cool edge of his voice makes Tris shudder. “It’s just that you’ve become… convenient.”

“Then – then don’t kill me! I’m sorry about the demon ring. I’m sorry. It was – stupid.”

“Yes. Very stupid, little mage. Did you think that you could drag me back to Aethon? That you could get the best of both worlds?” Veleth’s voice sharpens. “You can’t have both. It’s impossible.”

Tris drags in a shuddering breath. The clarity he felt a moment ago is shattered into pieces. Veleth is right – he can’t have both worlds. He doesn’t even have one. Not Deimos, where his desires are twisted up with fear and guilt, and not Aethon, where his life is full of lies and omissions. No world has space for a mage who consorts with demons.

After a moment, Veleth lets go of Tris’s hair and sits up, straddling Tris’s waist. His gaze is steady on Tris. Waiting.

Tris closes his eyes, and his voice comes out very quiet. “What am I supposed to do?”

“It’s simple. You’re going to have to choose.”

“Ch-choose?”

“Between my world and the mages’.” Veleth’s hand slides up Tris’s chest, rests heavy over his collarbone, close enough to his throat to feel like a threat. “You’ll only get hurt if you try to have both.”

Tris shudders. He wishes his heart didn’t shiver at the purr of Veleth’s voice, that his skin didn’t tingle at the cool friction of Veleth’s touch. How can he choose, when he aches for the exact thing he knows he shouldn’t want?

“If you choose darkness, I can make it worth your while.” Veleth offers a sharp smile. “You want to see Elzaren, right? I can take you there. You can study it as much as you like.”

A jolt runs through Tris. “Wait, you can? But I thought you said –”

“That it was too dangerous? There is a way around that, if we’re clever.”

“There is? What is it?”

“I can’t just tell you, mageling. If you want to see Elzaren, we’re going to have to trust each other.”

The word hangs in the air between them. Tris stares up at Veleth, elegant and vicious in the lamplight. “But – why would you trust me? I just tried to bind you.”

“Yes, and now you know that was a foolish idea, don’t you?” Veleth traces the line of Tris’s collarbone. “Just like we both know that I won’t kill you, because you’re much more fun alive. So if we choose to continue our… arrangement, perhaps we should just trust each other.”

Tris swallows. His head is spinning. He can’t just _decide_ to trust a demon.

But isn’t that what he’s been doing? He keeps coming back here, eager for the threat of Veleth’s touch, but believing Veleth won’t really hurt him. Would it change anything to label that feeling trust instead of recklessness?

“I… I don’t know.”

“Then let’s both prove we’re worthy of our words. Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I’ll take you to Elzaren, and in exchange...” Veleth grins down at Tris, baring his sharp teeth. “In exchange, there’s just one thing you need to do.”


	57. Jarring

Tris had forgotten, over the past three nights, just how _bright_ Aethon is. His heart is racing as he steps out onto Evenfell University’s campus. Everything feels a little off – the clear morning sunlight is too harsh, and the birdsong and the chatter of students too loud.

He makes himself take a deep breath. Maybe Aethon feels jarring because part of him is still in the dark of Deimos. It feels that way, anyway – like the promise he made Veleth is a magnet lodged in his chest, tugging him back towards that other world.

No. He shouldn’t think about that right now. He’s here at Evenfell – he should focus on school. Go get some food and then prepare for class tomorrow. Maybe he does have to choose, like Veleth said – but he doesn’t have to choose quite yet. Right?

“Tris!”

It’s Jasper, catching up to Tris on the winding path down to the dining hall. Tris lets out a quick breath and turns to greet him.

Even Jasper looks different. There’s something uncertain in his eyes, a twist to his mouth as he smiles. It’s rare enough to see Jasper without his usual confident grin that Tris entirely forgets his worries about Veleth. “Jasper?”

Jasper surges forward, grabs Tris, and pulls him into a hug. “Tris! It’s so good to see you. You have no idea how crazy everything has been.”

Tris is frozen for a moment, his heart giving a lurch at the heat of Jasper’s body against his. “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Jasper pulls back and his gaze sweeps over Tris. “Ah, Tris. After everything that happened, it’s so nice that you’re just… you.”

“What – what happened?”

“What do you want to hear about first? The good, the bad, the really bad, or –” Jasper lifts his arm, showing Tris a metal band around his wrist. “– the awesome?”

It’s a demon ring, gray metal twining around Jasper’s wrist in multiple strands, set with an impressively-sized adamant. Tris looks up at Jasper, smiling. “Wow, that’s great!”

“Binding it actually went pretty smoothly. And the demon is so cool. I’ll have to show you later.”

That would definitely fall outside Evenfell’s rules, but Tris nods anyway. “Okay.”

“You’d think that would be the most exciting moment of the trip. But no. Lots of other twists and turns.”

“Yeah?”

“For one thing, I fought a greater demon.”

Tris’s heart lurches. “Uh – you – you did?”

“Yeah! I don’t know if she was the one you ran into last month or not – but I definitely kicked her ass!”

“Oh.” That must have been the _kirath_ Veleth had talked about – Kezral, he had called her. She had sounded dangerous. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Doran was always nagging me about getting my spell forms perfect and _control_ and everything, but then I just forgot all that and blasted her. I tore her _arm_ off.”

“That’s – wow.” Of course Jasper would defeat the _kirath_ in a dramatic way, like some fairy tale hero. But even if Jasper’s grinning as he explains it, there’s still something tense in the set of his jaw.

“So… so what did Master Doran say about that?” asks Tris.

The grin disappears. “Well, he didn’t see that part. The demon knocked him down.”

“Is he all right?”

“Sure, it’s not like he’s hurt in this realm, right?”

True, but the pain of injuries still lingers across realms, even if the wounds themselves aren’t transferred. Tris glances over. “Uh. Is everything okay with you and Doran?”

“No, it’s –” Jasper stops, setting his jaw. “It’s fine. I sucked his dick and stuff – sorry, Tris – and I thought… I don’t know. But he said all that was a mistake. That he let things go on too far.”

“Oh.”

“When we got back, he said we could talk later, but he didn’t want to even look at me. Even though I saved his ass from the greater demon! And… and he was the one who told me earlier that I – that I had potential or whatever. Fuck.”

“Jasper...”

Jasper lets out a breath, reaching up to scrub a hand back over his head. “Hey, at least I got to do some fun stuff with him, right? It was crazy. Remind me to tell you about this thing we did the night before last.”

He shoots Tris a wicked grin, and Tris looks away. “Sure,” he says, trying to play along. Even though there are already too many images in his head – the memory of Veleth’s touch recent enough to mingle with the thought of Doran and Jasper together, so that he’s imagining Jasper naked, on his knees, teeth gritted at Doran’s steady touch –

He can feel his cheeks flushing. Jasper, watching, claps a hand to Tris’s shoulder. “Never change, Tris.”

“Uh. I’ll try.”

“Hey, how was your trip? Everything okay?”

Tris’s heart skips, and he hesitates, caught in Jasper’s steady gaze. He imagines telling Jasper everything. What he learned from Veleth and what he did to learn it. What he promised to do next.

But no, that’s ridiculous. Jasper looks at him and sees the same old Tris – how could Tris shatter that illusion? He knows Jasper would never accept any part of what Tris has done, not when it involves a demon. He’d hate Tris for it.

And Tris can’t lose Jasper – he’s the best part of Aethon by far.

He shakes his head. “It was fine. N-nothing interesting happened, really.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave a comment! You can also follow the story and give feedback on [Tumblr](https://beginnersguidetodemons.tumblr.com) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/A%20Beginners%20Guide%20to%20Hunting%20Demons).


End file.
